Fair Game
by Greenlips24
Summary: Modern AU Drama Treville was proud of his blue-helmeted elite peace keeping force, but he had a dream and he wanted his best men with him. With the help of his financial backers, he was about to buy a very large piece of land in Botswana and create a game reserve. To fulfil his dream, he also needed a Medic and a Veterinary Surgeon. After much research, he found the very men.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Welcome to my new story, Dear Readers. It's all written and is twenty six chapters long, which should take us up to February. It's a tale of the African savannah, to warm the cold wintery UK days. All places mentioned are real, unless otherwise indicated in the notes. It's a completely new AU – not related to my others. I will post a chapter every other day, as is my normal practise.

With thanks to Mountain Cat.

I hope you enjoy it.

oOo

 **Profiles** **:**

Jean Treville is the former CO to Athos and Porthos;

Athos de la Fere is an ex Army Captain, now a Senior Fellow in Anthropology;

Porthos du Vallon is a career Army Lt;

Aramis d'Herblay is a Trauma Surgeon, with Plastics as his speciality;

d'Artagnan is a Veterinary Surgeon.

oOo

 **CHAPTER ONE: A Door Opens**

 **Athos:**

 **Faculty of Social Anthropology, University of Bordeaux; Nouvelle-Aquitaine, South West France.**

It was the not knowing that had eaten into him; little by little.

Athos de la Fere had looked up one day and realised that _this_ life was over.

He made a promise to himself then, that if he ever had children, he would teach them how to manage their emotions. How he would do that, he did not know, as he didn't have a clue how to manage his. Perhaps, by then, he may have opened up a little. Back into the person he used to be, before he met _her_.

How he could achieve that, he did not know either.

Up until now, emotions were something to be pushed down; helped by copious amounts of alcohol.

Not anymore.

He held the letter from his former Commanding Officer, Jean Treville, tightly in his hand.

It was, literally, a lifeline that could not have come sooner. He wondered, not for the first time, at Treville's uncanny ability to reach out when he was most needed.

Because Athos knew there had been an anger in him that he needed to control.

This may be the way to achieve that; perhaps the only way.

Treville understood that, because he understood him. At least, he understood the person he was when he was under Treville's command in the Army. He had left that life to return to his first love of anthropology; sliding comfortably into a life as a senior lecturer, and then fellow, at Bordeaux University.

It was a prestigious university, originally founded in 1441. In 2014, it had merged with two others and was now the third largest university in France. Athos was on his way to becoming a full time professor, a long held dream. His published research papers were gaining recognition, and he was working on a definitive work that would see him achieve his ambition within the next two years.

Then, everything changed.

Anne had murdered Thomas, and it broke him.

He shattered into tiny pieces.

He had stayed shattered.

Until today, when Treville threw him _a lifeline_.

The anger was still in him, but buried now, amid sadness and regret.

How deep, he did not know.

The anger was aimed entirely at himself.

oOo

"Are you sure?" his Principal, Sabastien Bouchard asked, not unreasonably, whilst reading his resignation that same week.

Athos had wasted no time. Lifelines did not come often in his experience.

"One hundred percent, Sabastien," he had replied, as he sat opposite Bouchard in the man's large, bright office. "I am giving you three months notice; I know it is sometimes difficult to fill these roles."

"What will you do?" Bouchard asked, with a concern in his voice that touched Athos. He had always been supportive; even at the worst of times.

"I am returning to the Army; I have received a letter from my former CO, Jean Treville. He is heading up a UN peacekeeping corp. in Africa." Athos had answered quietly. "It will be a complete change, although I will not be totally abandoning my academic skills. My knowledge of anthropology was useful to the military before."

A different focus now; peace after violence.

Three years in the Army after graduating and his subsequent role as a research fellow had seen him settled and married to a woman he adored. He had kept in touch with Treville; who he had liked and respected enormously; perhaps more than the often-absent father of his childhood. He had taken solace from the thoughtful letter Treville had written him after Anne's trial, but had not taken up his offer to visit him, as it would have reminded him of happier times that he could not bear to relive.

"Indeed, the Army needs Anthropologists," Bouchard smiled. "A little socio-cultural knowledge never goes amiss. You will be missed, Athos," he said, genuinely. And then, his voice low, "It was a terrible thing."

Principal Bouchard had known Athos's younger brother, Thomas, and he was shocked by the manner of his death.

"I did hope you would become one of our more progressive Professors," he murmured, sadly.

"In another time, in another place," Athos had replied softly.

Bouchard sighed, and placed the letter of resignation on top of the pile of paperwork in front of him.

"Time to move on then," he said, smiling then. "I wish you well, my friend."

They shook hands, Athos a little too choked to speak; but no words were needed.

His students were sad. He had been an unusual lecturer, to say the least; but his love of his subject had always shone through, no matter how many demons sat on his shoulder. He had never been late for class, and had sat well into the night on many occasions, marking and grading essays. His young charges were the future; a future that he had not been able to see for himself.

Until now, perhaps.

oOo

 **Two Years Later:**

 **Athos and Porthos; Liberia.**

" _Today's multidimensional peacekeeping operations are called upon not only to maintain peace and security, but also to facilitate the political process, protect civilians, assist in the disarmament, demobilization of former combatants; support the organisation of elections, protect and promote human rights and assist in restoring the rule of law." United Nations_

For a peacekeeper, the man loved to brawl, Athos thought to himself as he stood watching the large dark-skinned man barrel through a group of new recruits. Fortunately, he was training them. It did not do to fight with the local population; though the opportunity was certainly there. Putting all that raw energy to good use had been one of Treville's first tasks.

"But we're peace-keepers!" one recruit had whined after being slammed into the ground once too often for his liking that morning.

"We're _targets_ ," the large dark-skinned man replied loudly. "You gotta learn to look after yerselves. Get over it."

Athos had been watching quietly from the doorway across the compound.

Porthos was becoming disillusioned and, as his Captain, Athos found he did not know what to do about it. It was true, the blue helmets did attract negative as well as positive attention, and it appeared to be getting under his skin. Porthos had a simple philosophy in life. Respect had to be earned, and that worked both ways. The three principles of peacekeeping; Consent of the parties; Impartiality; and Non-use of force except in self-defence and defence of the mandate, did not always hold.

Porthos du Vallon understood poverty and he fitted in well in the regions they were assigned to. Brought up in the outer Paris suburbs where unemployment was high, poverty and violence had been the norm.

Porthos had moved from infantry to peacekeeping as the result of an injury to his shoulder that would never fully heal. He had never thought he would be accepted into the blue helmeted elite group under the respected Jean Treville, but the man himself had sought him out. Porthos had thought it was because of the colour of his skin, for once perhaps a positive thing, but Treville had seen more in him; a young man who had struggled to move himself out of the poverty of his young life in the outer suburbs of Paris.

Athos was Porthos's Captain. Porthos didn't even know what "anthropology" was, but soon found out this man was no university bookworm. Word was, he had been a soldier. Porthos didn't know what to make of that.

After a few clashes, they had settled into an actual friendship, which had surprised both of them. It had surprised Porthos, because this man was a world away from him. He was articulate and smart and obviously came from money. It had surprised Athos, because Porthos was self-made and driven by purpose. _He_ had been like tha _t_ once. Porthos had a sense of humour that Athos actually understood, which surprised him further, as he thought he had no humour of his own to be able to recognise it in others. Porthos had corrected that assumption, by laughing loudly and frequently at his brief dry comments.

Athos had really been in no fit state when he had arrived in Africa. Porthos had watched as he lost himself in thought and drink. He also saw that he could be cautious and reckless; fearless and fearsome in equal measure. He had been difficult to figure out, but he apparently held duty above all else, so Porthos had watched and gradually gravitated toward him.

Athos had finally given in one night, after Porthos had pulled him from a self-inflicted fight in a bar. Athos had explained, through a haze of anger and sadness, that he had found "anniversaries" the worst to endure, as the two people who had shattered his life so efficiently had many between them. This particular night, apparently, was his wife's birthday and also his wedding anniversary. A "double whammy," he had slurred. He said no more, but Porthos realised these two people were no longer in his life. One day, Athos may tell him more, but that particular night, he had dragged him out of the bar, thrown him in their truck, broken someone's jaw when they returned for another go, and put his foot on the accelerator. Back at their base, he had somehow got Athos past the guard and poured him into bed.

Athos had stared at him the next morning when he had come quietly into his room with breakfast, and realised that he had gained a friend. Later, when it happened again, he would realise he had gained a brother.

From then on, Porthos could recognise the onset of an anniversary, or a particular trigger, and he could be prepared. His friendship with Athos would be reciprocated many times, quietly and unassumingly, as they learned to trust each other. Soon, their friendship was like an old warm favourite sweater; an analogy Porthos had exclaimed one night when he realised they could understand each other without words. It was an analogy that Athos could not argue with.

The bulk of their tours of duty had been in Africa. Peace keeping was an immense challenge. For every pro there was a con. They had experienced sickness, hostility, and seen some terrible things; frequently suffering the realisation that sometimes, there was nothing that could be done. They were often seen as outsiders; to be scrutinized and often held up to ridicule. All the while, never fully trusted.

It was a two week vacation in France that changed Porthos's life and his perspective and would pave the way to a new beginning for them both.

 **To be continued ...**

 **Anthropology** \- the study of various aspects of humans within past and present societies


	2. Chapter 2

Many thanks for your kind reviews, and my thanks also to those I cannot reply to personally. And, for the anthropologists among you (you know who you are), be gentle with me.

I should just slip my disclaimer in here: I do not own anything.

oOo

 **CHAPTER TWO**

 **Porthos Buys a Zoo**

"Are you _serious_?" Athos asked, staring at Porthos.

During the second week of their vacation in France, they had stumbled upon a bar with a large piece of land at the back. The crude sign by the door had intrigued them. It was hot, and they were badly in need of a beer, so they had looked at each other, shrugged and gone inside.

"Never been more serious in my life," his friend said firmly, as they stood looking at two metal cages on the edge of the land at the back of the bar.

Inside each cage was an adult male lion; both laid out lethargically at the edge of their cages, seeking any shade that was on offer against the fierce sun.

Smaller cages around the perimeter held other smaller animals; mainly monkeys. Surprisingly quiet monkeys with sad eyes.

"They ain't even got names," Porthos growled, taking them all in, before staring miserably at the lions.

This "zoo" was the saddest thing Porthos had ever seen.

"Very well then," replied Athos, his mouth curling into a smile.

They retreated to the nearby bar they had been using during their vacation to make plans. A call to Treville had them heading back to the first bar, and cornering the owner.

Porthos made him an offer he could not refuse; a mixture of cash and intimidation that had Athos tilting his head in quiet amusement and respect for his big hearted friend.

Treville's contacts had led to calls to the Born Free Foundation. Well-oiled wheels started to turn and the two big cats were confiscated, with local residents and media support, and the zoo closed down.

It turned out both lions had been born in a French circus that had been liquidated, and the bar owner had bought them as an attraction. The lions were twelve years and sixteen years old respectively and he had kept them here for the past three years. Local residents had not been happy and it did not take much to get their support. They had not been mistreated, as such; the bar owner had fed them as correct a diet as he wanted to pay for. However, despite their reprieve from the circus, they had continued to be exploited and their natural needs had been sorely neglected.

They were moved to a refuge, before travelling by road into Germany, where they were flown to Johannesburg. From there, they were flown by charter flight to their new home, an enclosure within a reserve that received and repatriated other such animals.

Porthos had named the younger lion Caesar, as he had a regal look about him, despite his circumstances and Athos had named the older lion Caligula as he looked "somewhat mad." Porthos had roared with laughter at that. "You'd look mad too if you'd had 'is life," he had replied.

When they returned to duty, Treville, Athos and Porthos were able to make the trip to watch their release into a larger enclosure on the chosen reserve.

As each lion stepped onto grassland for possibly the first time in their lives, it had been the most touching thing the three men had ever witnessed.

oOo

All in all, the positives often outweighed the negatives in their peace keeping profession and sometimes, when things were going well, small victories were relished; with the hope that they would lead to greater ones. Sometimes, they were heroes. Lately, despite Porthos's disillusionment, they had had a run of positive outcomes, and all was going well.

That was until Treville announced that he would be retiring in six month's time.

That night, Athos and Porthos had drunk a little too much in the local town, and had staggered back to their barracks under the watchful eye of Treville, who appeared the following morning on the balcony of his HQ, seeking them out.

"You two, up here now!"

Once inside his office, he pinned them with a steel blue gaze, leaving them standing to attention a little longer than usual, before taking pity on them and pushing a folder toward them.

"I have a proposition for you."

oOo

"Botswana, Gentlemen," Treville said, as they both peered at the contents of the folder.

"Land is being grabbed by hedge fund investors, without the knowledge of the local communities, who are being displaced because of subsequent land development," Treville had told them when he had sprung his proposal on them.

"Land is going cheap," he sighed, stabbing his finger on the report in the folder. "It's time to buy before restrictions come into place. There is one piece of land I have scoped on behalf of my financial backers. The auction for this land is in six weeks. It will give us time before the rains come next year to get some work done to make it habitable for us."

"You talk like you've already got it," Porthos huffed.

"For what purpose, precisely," Athos asked, not waiting for Treville to respond; wanting to be clear.

"A game reserve, Gentlemen. We will establish a conservation area with the aim of sustaining and conserving wildlife and protecting local communities. I have twelve backers. Three will be co-owners." Treville replied.

"Who are they?" Athos asked, surprised at this sudden turn of events in Treville's life.

"I am sorry, Athos, I cannot tell you. They wish to remain anonymous, but the twelve will form the operating board. However, day to day running and decisions will be mine. The three co-owners will be silent partners."

He was met with silence in return.

"What is so special about this particular piece of land?" Athos had enquired.

"It has water. Lots of it," Treville had answered. "Quite a commodity in Botswana, believe me."

Treville sat and watched the various emotions flashing across his best men's faces. He held his breath.

"If you wish to invest, the offer is there for both of you, Gentlemen," Treville said, breaking the silence.

"The auction is to be held in London but it will be live; on-line," he continued, "but I want to be there in person. The three co-owners will follow the proceedings; London is their domicile."

"Athos, I'd like you to be part of this. It is important that this reserve is part of the whole community. Your skills as an anthropologist will be invaluable. Porthos, well, you know why I'd like you there. The Born Free Foundation still talks about you," he laughed.

"So, if you get this land, we all leave together?" Porthos asked.

"That's about the size of it," Treville said. "Your tour of duty is up when I retire, you can either sign on again, or leave."

Treville stood and walked over to the large cupboard by the door, where he kept his wine. Having spent a large part of his student holidays working on French vineyards, Athos knew his wine and appreciated Treville's taste. He and Porthos shared a look as he poured three glasses and brought two of them over.

"The world's population is rising, Gentlemen," Treville added, returning for his own glass. "There will be a growing demand for food. Asia is moving away from rice and demanding a more protein-enriched diet and more farmland will be needed to produce meat; much more land will be required to raise cattle than to grow rice. Irrigated land will be a precious commodity, and this land I speak of," he said firmly, leaning over and tapping the folder, "has that. This is the chance to protect that land from developers and investors or it will be lost. There are also large hotel groups prowling the region. This is an opportunity to save the land, help the animals and the local farmers and the indigenous communities. Their help will be vital to our survival as a concern. It will be an immense but rewarding challenge."

He leant back in his chair and put the glass to his lips, before putting it down, untouched.

"It's the final frontier of commercial market development, Gentlemen," Treville added quietly. "A chance to buy at a low entry price and pioneer the creation of a sound operation from an early stage."

Porthos looked at Athos, and they both grinned.

"You 'ad us at "I have a proposition," Porthos laughed.

"We're in," they both said together.

"Since you put it so eloquently," Athos added, raising his glass.

Treville glowered at them for making him work for it, before smiling and reaching for his glass and joining his men in a toast;

"To the future; together," he said, as three glasses chinked.

By the time Treville locked the door of his wine cupboard, one of the shelves was completely empty. He watched fondly from the window as his men wove their way back to their rooms; arms wrapped around shoulders.

"To the future, Gentlemen," he said quietly.

 **To be continued ...**

oOo

 **A/N:** Caligula (AD12-AD41); The Third Roman Emperor. Mad as a box of frogs. He was finally assassinated by the Pretorian Guard.

The Born Free Foundation is a registered international charity that strives to protect endangered wildlife.


	3. Chapter 3

It's crunch time ...

 **CHAPTER THREE**

 **The Auction**

The auction for the piece of land that Treville was interested in was to be held in London.

Six weeks later, at the beginning of December, the early morning plane touched down at a grey and misty Heathrow airport. It was freezing, as Porthos pointed out almost immediately; wrapping his scarf completely around the lower part of his face.

"No-one should suffer such a change in temperature in one day," he growled, having left the heat of Africa for an English winter in full flow.

There was two inches of snow on the ground but the city had seen worse, and it had a vibrant pre-Christmas buzz. As they rode further into central London in a black cab, the large stores lining the streets were all dressed brightly for Christmas; each seemed to be vying with the next one for attention. Already, the crowds were out in force, and the traffic was heavy. The famous red double decker buses splashed colour where otherwise, there was little.

"Everyone 'ere wears black," Porthos grumbled.

Treville and Athos shared a look.

"Perhaps they are all in mourning," Athos muttered quietly; not a great Anglophile at the best of times.

"Come now, Gentlemen, it has its good points. But for the life of me," Treville grunted, staring out of the steamed-up window, "I cannot think of one at the present moment."

They all laughed as the cab pulled up in front of their hotel, the prestigious Dorchester on Park Lane, in the city's Mayfair area.

"I need a double brandy," Porthos said as he threw open the cab door and clambered out; slinging his overnight bag over his shoulder.

"Right behind you," Athos said, pulling Treville along with them.

The auction was to be held the following morning at the Dorchester, where they had each booked a room. It would be an early start, but that did not stop them later going out for the evening and melting seamlessly into the evening crowds. They talked tactics for a while, before having dinner at a nearby steak and lobster restaurant. Later, they headed back to their hotel, where Treville took his leave and Athos and Porthos called in at the bar for one last drink.

They were just about to turn in themselves, when Athos noticed a man at the far end of the bar. He could only see the side of his head but he heard his clipped drawl that smacked of self-importance. Porthos was in mid sentence when he noticed Athos was distracted.

"You seen someone you know?" he asked, following Athos's gaze.

"No, I don't think so," Athos replied, frowning. "Nevermind. One for the road, Porthos, we have a big day ahead of us tomorrow. Our future may depend on it."

oOo

That morning at the auction, the Dorchester's Business Centre had been transformed. Rows of blue and gold chairs were laid out in front of a podium at the end of the room. On the wall behind the podium, in front of the floor-to-ceiling curtains, there was a bank of flat screens with different time zones in the right hand corner of each screen.

Treville was nervous. He had scoped this land for several months and had spent hours on the phone, on-line and in person getting his backers in place and working out details and draft contracts for his three co-owners. They wanted this land for conservation. Botswana had a large mining industry and it was its communities and animals that often suffered. The elephant was endangered, as were many of the smaller animals. The stakes were high.

This sale was not only for African land, so he was not too concerned to see so many people there. He did not like to think how many were queuing up in cyber space, waiting for the auction to begin. Treville's three co-owners were watching on-line, despite being in the city. This was all in a day's work for them, he knew.

At the precise hour, the podium was lit with two discreet spotlights, despite it only being mid-day and two auctioneers appeared, both dressed impeccably in dark suits and grey silk ties. After an initial opening statement, the auction began, and land around the world began to be sold to the highest bidder.

An hour in and the African land came up for sale.

Farms and properties were sold at the drop of the hammer, and then Treville looked at Athos on his left, and Porthos on his right.

"This is us, Gentlemen," he murmured.

oOo

After that, it was a complete blur.

Treville had a set amount of cash that he could not go beyond.

After a few minutes, it narrowed down to just four people bidding.

Then, two dropped out, and it was just Treville and one man at the front of the room. The computers were silent and it felt like all eyes were on these two men as the bidding moved to and fro between them.

Athos craned his neck in an attempt to see who the other bidder was.

The man was obviously bidding silently; he could hear nothing in the room apart from the auctioneer's confirmation and prompting.

Athos stood slowly and deliberately and moved to the side of the room, and leant on a pillar with his arms crossed. There was something familiar about the man at the front. It was the man in the bar last night. Again, he could not see him clearly. This time only the back of his head, but he felt a strange sense of foreboding.

The bidding was reaching Treville's cut-off point and Athos looked at Porthos and saw his own tension reflected in his friend's face.

He had a feeling that they were going to lose this.

All of a sudden, the man in the front abruptly stood up and walked out.

They all looked at each other and Treville slowly stood.

The auctioneer was looking around the room, asking for any more bids.

Treville nodded; confirming his final bid, given before the man had left the room. He was not authorised to go any higher.

The auctioneer acknowledged the bid and asked again; his eyes swiftly scanning the room.

Time stood still.

The snow had started up outside and cascaded silently down the large windows on one side of the room. They all held their breath. Porthos found himself rising to his feet.

" _For the third ... and final time ..."_ the auctioneer was saying.

Suddenly, the hammer went down, echoing loudly around the room; making them all jump. The wielder of the hammer scanned the room and found who he was looking for.

"Your land, Sir," he called, pointing his hammer toward Treville. "Congratulations."

Porthos blew out a noisy breath and grabbed Treville's arm as he sat down heavily on the blue and gold chair; a look of utter shock on his face.

"What just 'appened?" Porthos hissed urgently, looking toward Athos; still standing at the side of the room.

Treville looked from Porthos to Athos, a stunned expression on his face.

"It's ours," he breathed.

Athos nodded briefly at him and then left the room, leaving Treville and Porthos almost bouncing up and down with excitement, as their success began to sink in.

He went in the direction of the mysterious man, through the double entrance doors and turning left. Following the red carpeted corridor, he turned into the lobby. But this was the Dorchester and the lobby was teeming with people; those with reservations and suitcases, and those who had just come to gawp at the grand hotel, and perhaps treat themselves to a late lunch, afternoon tea, or a session in celebrity spotting.

There was no sign of the man.

Athos turned and went back into the Business Centre. They had three co-owners to meet and a celebration to commence.

oOo

Before the man had left the Dorchester, his phone had starting buzzing insistently.

"What the hell just happened?!" a gruff heavily-accented voice demanded.

The man stopped on the street, squinting across at Hyde Park and chewing his bottom lip. A woman and child tried to pass by and he did not move; glaring at them until the woman swerved around him and hurried off; pulling the staring child with her.

"You'll get your money, Krupin," he enunciated calmly, at odds with the way he still chewed at his lip. He was not subject to nerves; just a mental detachment that made him appear disinterested, even bored.

The man called Krupin was not impressed. "It's the land I want _durak!_ It's worth twice the amount of money it sold for. You have not completed your contract."

"Relax," the man replied slowly, as if he was talking to a child. "I've told you. Treville is about to be investigated for tax fraud and corruption. The sale will fall through. The land will be ours."

Not waiting for Krupin to reply, he shut the phone down with an abrupt jab of his finger, pulled his collar up against the bitter winter chill and hailed a black cab. It was true, he _had_ reported Treville for tax evasion, and it would be disruptive for a time. But he had found nothing to prove his allegations; it had been just a matter of buying time until he could destroy Treville's operation. The French public tax administration had been tipped off well in advance of the auction, but they had been slow to act and, instead of Treville having to withdraw from the sale as he had planned, he had been able to not only bid, but appear in person, _with_ two of his men.

It had left him in a losing position as he had taken half the money Yaroslav Krupin had wired him as a deposit on the successful acquisition of the land, and he had gambled it away in the space of one evening. It had gone the same way most of his money, and other people's, went. It was only his gift for conning people that had kept him afloat over the years. Sometimes, he was highly successful. But now, he was a little out of his league, in that he suspected that the Russian knew more about the land than he was letting on and he wanted to be a part of whatever it was.

Unfortunately, his weakness for gambling had put him in a precarious position and he needed to recoup his losses. In the meantime, the French tax authorities would soon begin to investigate Treville and his backers would be alerted. Further disruption would ensure Treville would be left alone and isolated and the land would be theirs for the taking. He had plans for that piece of paradise.

His next task was to head to Africa and enlist help.

And no-one would stop him; including Yaroslav Krupin.

Krupin had slammed his phone down after his call to London had been terminated. The response he had received had been unacceptable.

He had unfinished business with this man.

 **To be continued ...**

oOo

 **A/N:** _Durak – Russian term (male): a fool, an idiot._


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

Treville's celebrations were temporarily halted as the tax office interviewed him over an allegation of underpayment. The allegations were quickly proved false; but had been hugely disruptive. It was only because Treville had chosen his backers carefully and they knew him to be a man of honour, and that he kept impeccable records that things got back on track.

After that, everything was completed within three months and in March, they made their first visit to the reserve that Treville was to call "Heshima," which was Swahili for "Honour."

Still stung by the tax allegations against him, Treville knew, though, that they had acquired an unknown enemy.

oOo

There were many foreign players in Africa; China, India and Russia being among the biggest.

Russia had built oil refineries and were increasing their presence in an attempt to become the major "soft power" player in the continent.

The old Soviet regime had established operations in Africa and the present regime were re-establishing those links. There was even talk of a satellite system that provided surveillance of the entire African continent: "Operation Condor."

Several African leaders had been educated in Moscow and the USSR at that time, as huge amounts of money was invested in military advisers, equipment and support for the KGB. When the Soviet Union collapsed, more than 50,000 Africans had studied in Soviet universities and military institutions and at least another 200,000 Africans had received Soviet training in Africa.

Several military coups and the collapse of the Soviet regime had put an end to it all. Until recently; when their interest was once more being felt.

 **Botswana**.

Botswana covers an area of some 225,000 square miles and is similar in size to France. Having achieved independence from the UK in 1966, it became a self governing republic

It is a land-locked country of just over two million people. It is flat, with up to seventy percent of its land forming the Kalahari Desert. It is bordered by South Africa to the south and southeast, Namibia to the west and north, and Zimbabwe to the northeast and is one of the most sparsely populated countries in the world. Ten per cent of the population live in the capital, Gaborone, its largest city. Botswana has over the past few decades transformed into one of the world's fastest-growing economies, dominated by mining, cattle and tourism.

Its main ethnic group is the Tswana, which makes up almost per seventy eight per cent of the population.

oOo

" **Heshima":**

Treville already had a name for the game reserve, and he did, duly, call it Heshima – the Swahili word for "Honour," which everyone thought appropriate. The land comprised around 1,500 square miles (3,880 square km). It lay on the eastern side of the Okavango Delta, itself 16,000 square miles in size.

The nearest town was Maun, the fifth largest town in Botswana and the major gateway to the Okavango Delta.

The Delta itself was diverse, comprising woodland and lagoons which spanned the Delta and the mainland. The Delta itself was bone dry, covered in mopane woodland. The mopane tree is also called the "butterfly" tree, because of its butterfly-shaped leaves. It can attain a height of up to twenty five metres; the bark of the tree is light to dark grey in colour with very prominent longitudinal fissures.

On all sides of the Delta lay a labyrinth of rivers, fresh water lagoons and floodplains. It had the honour of being named the 1000th World UNESCO Heritage site. The best time was the middle of the year, the dry season but conversely, the flood waters peaked then, making game viewing spectacular from July to October. The weather was extremely hot from October to the rains in late November, early December.

Heshima was remote in its location within the Delta. The permanent water in this area led to it being home to wild dog and leopard among other savannah game which included elephant, hippopotamus, zebra, hyena, impala, giraffe, lion, Cape buffalo and black rhinoceros and over five hundred species of bird life, from water birds to forest dwellers.

A downside was that because of the abundance of water, the area had a high malaria risk; and caution had to be exercised at all times. Hence the Heshima uniform of long sleeves and trousers. Rangers and wardens were also not allowed to wear bright colours; predators were attracted to them.

In all, it was a dangerous but beautiful place and above all else, Treville wanted to preserve this land in its most natural, unspoilt and impressive condition.

It took Treville, Athos and Porthos over a week to view their new operation, and then, they only saw a part of it. After initial excursions, it was then down to research, decision-making and the construction of an operation base and living quarters.

Travel would be by 4 x 4, flat bed truck or by canoe; called mekoro, made from fibreglass. Traditionally, such canoes used to be hewn from the trees but now those trees were protected and preserved.

A small landing strip was to be constructed for use by light aircraft, for game viewing and transfers.

For four months, they lived in temporary accommodation, and made the acquaintance of the nearest local community, some ten miles from their base perimeter. These were a branch of the Tswana people and the village was compact; but the people welcomed them with a grace and friendliness that overwhelmed them.

 **The Garrison**

Soon, a complex began to take shape within Heshima. It was soon christened, "The Garrison." Within eight months there was a large lodge-like main house, six cabins, stables, and living quarters for ten staff. Medical facilities were planned for both humans and animals and also fenced-in animal facilities with accommodation for those animals. There was a large lake in front of the Lodge. Another large house was situated about half a mile away, which provided six bedrooms, with staff, to cater for visitors.

It had been an exhausting but exhilarating time, watching the Garrison rise up quickly amid the heat and the dust. It was created by the construction company that the Board had commissioned to create their base. It was a happy day when they watched the heavy construction trucks depart and the dust finally settle on their new venture.

Treville had met the people of the Tswana when he was originally scoping the land, and had met Nyack Seko, the most senior of the elders. Nyack had three sons, Oba, Tabansi and Rach who were full-blooded Tswana, and one daughter, Nkosi, who appeared to be mixed race.

During construction of the house that was to be the hotel, Treville had called Athos into his office, in the now-completed main Lodge. It was an impressive building, with a balcony that wrapped around the front, which would give good views of the whole Garrison and the lake.

Athos wiped the dust off his boots on the mat outside the door and knocked twice before stepping inside.

A young woman sat with Treville, dressed in full Tswana traditional dress.

"Athos, this is Nkosi Seko," Treville said, as they both stood. "She will be our Consierge, when the hotel opens."

She was wearing the traditional head dress which framed her face; the material wrapped intricately around her head. Her close-fitting ankle length dress was crisp and colourful and highlighted her lithe figure.

With no chance to put up his guard, Athos had taken her slim hand in his and met her eyes. He had never seen such beautiful brown eyes, and something had hitched in his chest; taking him by surprise.

For her part, Nkosi had never seen such eyes in a man. They were the colour of the ocean, with astonishing depth. She had fallen a little right there – an extraordinary feeling. One her mother had described to her when she was a little girl;

" _To love at first sight is a wonder, daughter; to live in that love is truly a blessing."_

Her mother, Jayne, had died when she was four years old, but her father, Nyack, had often repeated that simple statement to her; for he had truly and deeply loved her mother.

oOo

In the following weeks, the evenings spent talking to Nkosi had awakened the anthropologist in him once more and he had enjoyed discovering what she knew of her customs. He picked up on every detail and quizzed her until she was exhausted; telling him he must meet her father, Nyack, who could tell him everything he wanted to know.

She had looked up at him through her dark lashes and he knew then that she had slipped quietly under his skin.

She had taken him to her village and he had met her three brothers first, before being introduced to the old man.

Athos had been in African villages before, and the Tswana village was typical; a mixture of traditional round timber-framed circular single roomed houses with conical thatched roofs and other multi-roomed rectangular houses with roofs of corrugated iron.

A common meal was chicken or beef stew, cooked in a large metal pot, which they sat down to that day.

Nyack Seko liked Athos. On that first meeting, Athos had given the old man a wind-up radio, and the old man was able to listen to news and political stations. Thereafter he would take pleasure in engaging Athos in political discussions, his views astute and balanced, and Athos enjoyed hearing stories of his life and that of his ancestors. Once back at the Garrison, he made a point of committing Nyack's words to paper, for future research.

Nyack was a man of tradition; but that first day, he had seen how his daughter had looked at this man. As his second wife, Jayne, had been white; who was he to complain? Their love had transcended the previous limits of their own cultures at a time when such bounds were untested. Nkosi was added testament to their bravery and the great-heartedness of his people had surprised and humbled Nyack and Jayne.

And so to Nyack, watching his daughter with this man; love _was_ above all else.

Porthos had roared with laughter that first evening and said that Athos had probably married her with that meeting. Athos had looked horrified; before Porthos and Treville had laughed and he had relaxed.

The following day, he remembered looking across at her as they all sat together in the kitchen of the Lodge, and wondering briefly if that would be such a bad thing.

She was as graceful as a gazelle and her laugh trickled happily through the very bones of him.

 **To be continued ...**


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

It seemed that in no time at all, they were up and running, albeit with still much to do.

The lake in front of the main house was man-made and was a real asset. It was one of the first things they had created, having found a natural spring that had fed an old well which had been sunk into the ground many years before. They had demolished the well and allowed the spring to flow, before damning it into a wide lake.

Guests were then treated to the rare sight of animals that found their way cautiously in on the far side of the Garrison, which they had left open to the savannah; thereby allowing access for the animals but safety for the human residents, who could not approach on that side.

Some mornings, a group of giraffes would make their slow amble over, before feeding on the branches of the nearby trees that overhung that portion of the water.

At the rear, there was a stable block where they kept horses, sometimes an easier form of transport to move around than the vehicles, which could become stuck in mud, or get a flat, or break down. There was also a small rugged Cessna 206 six-seat utility aircraft that they kept at the airstrip; it was excellent for short take off and landing and was used for checking perimeter fences and the surveillance of the movements of the larger herds. Both these forms of transport were also used for visitors, as part of their reserve experience.

oOo

Athos had recently discovered a small herd of rhino on the western perimeter. He had watched as a calf was born and it looked like a white rhino; a rare and precious find. He had monitored the herd quietly for a few days, before deciding the rhino was female. Back at the Garrison, they all wanted to call her "Precious," much to Athos's distain. However, he went along with it when Nkosi told him that the word for "precious" in Swahili was "Thamani." And so that became her name.

Nkosi always knew when Athos sought solace in one of the local bars. She would sent a warden to track him and radio back where he was; unbeknownst to him. At the appointed time, Porthos would set off to bring him home, whether he wanted to return or not. Porthos would arrive back with Athos either conscious and compliant; conscious and uncompliant; passed out and therefore compliant; or if nothing could be done with him, unconscious with a bruise forming on his jaw.

The next day, nothing would be said and they would all resume their duties after Athos had stood for twenty minutes under a cold shower.

However, Porthos could see that at long last, his friend's demons were loosening their hold on him, and these falls from grace were becoming less and less as he learned to live with each anniversary.

As Head Ranger, Athos was a natural leader and had organised the recruitment and training of the wardens. Porthos was his second in command, relishing his role and the camaraderie that was being forged with the other wardens and the local communities.

What Treville needed now was a Medic, and a Veterinary Surgeon to run purpose-built facilities.

oOo

 **A Meeting of Minds**

 **Aramis: Plastics Aren't Everything.**

Sitting at the back of the Lecture Theatre in the American Hospital of Paris on the Neuilly-sur-Seine, Treville listened as the man on the podium delivered his lecture on "The Repair and Restoration of Blood Supply following Trauma." He was a plastic surgeon, and this was the seventh such lecture Treville had attended in a variety of settings around Europe. He had thus checked out seven doctors, with varying specialities. The had looked good on paper, but ultimately left much to be desired, both in the flesh and in their mindset.

He was beginning to despair of ever finding the man he wanted; until today.

After the lecture, he therefore sought the man out for a private discussion; waiting patiently while he extricated himself from the many colleagues who stayed to congratulate him on his lecture - something else in his favour from Treville's point of view.

"I have a proposition for you," Treville said within just half an hour of talking to this particular individual.

"Africa?" Aramis had said, sometime later; taken by surprise.

"You will have full autonomy to set up a first class medical facility, Dr d'Herblay," Treville had said, after informing him of the not-inconsiderable budget. Please, hear me out."

"Please, call me Aramis," the man responded, as a smile spread across his handsome features and he invited him to sit.

Treville walked out of the American Hospital an hour later with an equally wide smile.

Things were coming together now.

Porthos had been easy. He had been one of his most trustworthy soldiers.

Athos had come on board with little hesitation, drawn in by his CO's enthusiasm and his drive to complete his thesis on tribal societies in Africa, which he had commenced during his first year in the peace-keeping corp. Treville suspected that he did still perhaps harbour a distant dream of a professorship at some point in the future.

Now, it seemed, they had their medic. It had been remarkably easy. Had he known Aramis a little longer, he would have known why.

Aramis joined them at a time in his life when he was beginning to think he had forgotten how to _live_. He was bored with hospital routine, and was becoming reckless in his private life; charming his way around his female colleagues and leaving broken hearts behind him. He was even bored with Paris, which had ultimately convinced him that what he craved was adventure.

Looking out at his audience that morning, he had only just realised he needed a lifeline when this man had appeared at his lecture and thrown him one.

As Athos had so rightly concluded, such lifelines were not thrown often.

Aramis d'Herblay figured he had probably used all his second chances.

And besides, he liked the look of Jean Treville.

oOo

They protected Heshima fiercely and completely. The wide open spaces suited Athos and Porthos, and Aramis had loved setting up the medical facility.

The shell of his facility was already there when he arrived, and he had carte blanche to complete it. He therefore set up an emergency room, with three beds and a state of the art operating room; plus two private rooms. If they were to have fee paying exclusive guests, they had to ensure medical care was quickly available, before onward transportation to the main hospital, if necessary. It was in effect, a high tech field hospital; a set up he seemed familiar with.

Aramis was a very charming man. Before they knew it, both Porthos and Athos were helping him set up his operation. He had a boundless energy and a ready smile; but he also liked quiet contemplation, and when he needed to recharge his batteries, he could be found reading his bible. He also had a rebellious streak, which led to a few clashes with Athos, who liked order and they sometimes butted heads in the early days, especially over the medicals he instigated for all Heshima employees, sometimes without notice. He took his responsibilities to guests and staff very seriously.

They were all masters of their own particular domains and once they had each other's measure, the three of them became firm friends. The odd practical joke went a long way to diffusing any tension between them. Porthos especially enjoyed practical jokes involving water, which would ruin Aramis's stylish hair. Aramis preferred flour. Athos had no preference, but often caught them out with his inventiveness.

Aramis set about forging links with the main hospital in Gaborone, the capital town in Botswana. Together, they agreed on reciprocal arrangements. He would give time and expertise to them, and he would have their back-up if required.

He became a regular in the local villages, where he spent two days a month treating the villagers in his mobile clinic.

All that was left was to fill the vacancy for the Veterinary Surgeon. Treville had seconded a temporary one while the Garrison was under construction, but he had left to continue his studies, as planned.

Treville began the search that would take him and Athos to Kruger National Park to look for their fourth. He wanted Athos to meet a particular young man who was making real progress in his study of genetics. This particular individual was also experienced in computer science and some of his developments in software design would greatly enhance their operation on Heshima.

They would make the trip to meet Charles d'Artagnan in two week's time.

 **To be continued ...**


	6. Chapter 6

Many thanks for reading and reviewing. Always very much appreciated.

 **CHAPTER SIX**

 **Two weeks later:**

 **d'Artagnan; Kruger National Park**

The flight from Francistown in Botswana to Kruger Mpumalanga International Airport was a distance of three hundred and seventy miles; less than an hour's flight, compared to five hours driving. From there, a short drive took them into the national park for their scheduled meeting.

Athos was now standing on the veranda of one of the Kruger staff lodges, looking out over the bush.

Inside, Treville was studying the young man with a practised eye. He knew what he wanted, and this young man had certainly piqued his interest. After talking to him and drawing out his thoughts and ambitions with practised ability, borne of command, Treville knew he was an unapologetic idealist.

Normally he would have dismissed him. From a seasoned soldier's point of view, he wanted solid, practical men who would share his ideas. This young man was charismatic, but he wondered if he would fight him on his decisions. d'Artagnan knew his own mind, and he knew what he wanted. But he could see he had a fierce appetite for justice, he abhorred the decimation of animals for political and monetary gain and conservation was very dear to his heart, it seemed.

He had realised quite quickly that he wanted this young man as part of his team. His youth and enthusiasm, together with his skills, would be a real asset.

He knew it would be a leap into the dark for d'Artagnan; he was at the beginning of his career, and was starting to achieve results. Treville would have to choose his words carefully if he was to negotiate this proposal successfully.

d'Artagnan was currently making coffee, tucking his long dark hair behind one ear and pursing his lips, in thought.

Treville got down to business and outlined his proposal.

"Why would I want to leave all this?" d'Artagnan had asked Treville, who had spent the last half hour explaining his proposition. "It's more than four times the size of your reserve."

"Because it _is_ smaller and you would be your own boss, for one thing," Treville said, dangling the promise before him. "Not bad for someone who only qualified a year ago," he added.

d'Artagnan smiled, aware of the carrot Treville was dangling before him, but Treville could see he still was not convinced.

"And," Treville added, "We have a white rhino calf."

He knew d'Artagnan was interested then, and saw how the young man instantly shot him an intense look. He could almost see his mind turning over.

"But," Treville said, "You will have to fight Athos for her."

d'Artagnan raised both eyebrows, his head turning to take in Athos through the window, still standing perfectly still, look out over the bush.

A mischievous look crept over d'Artagnan's face.

"Frosty Face? What's his interest?"

Treville smiled, looking across at Athos.

"She's the love of his life," he said quietly.

If Athos had heard him say that, he may have disagreed. The love of his life was currently serving a life sentence in Paris for murdering his brother.

It was enough for d'Artagnan though; a chance to be his own boss and to study a female white rhino calf. They shook hands and he agreed to give it some thought. After all, he could always come back to Kruger if it didn't work out.

"What did you think of him?" Treville asked Athos on their drive back to the airport.

"I think he will fit in well," Athos replied, his eyes on the road ahead.

Treville smiled to himself. Athos had hardly spoken to him; hardly made himself part of the proceedings, keeping in the background as he always did. But Treville knew that d'Artagnan had been under the keenest observation, and that if Athos said he would fit in; he would.

The following afternoon, Treville received a phone call.

It was d'Artagnan, explaining he would have to give two months notice.

"Welcome aboard," Treville had said, looking across at Athos, who was sitting on the other side of his desk.

He replaced the receiver and blew out a breath; feeling quite pleased with himself.

"You heard that," he said, "We have our Vet, Athos."

"We'd better warn the others," Athos smiled. "I believe our young friend will shake things up around here."

Together, they walked out of Treville's office and went in search of Porthos and Aramis.

oOo

 **A Tale of Two Tree Houses:**

There were two tree houses on Heshima. Athos had built one, and Porthos the other. It had been quite a competition between the two of them during their first few months, when the construction company were busy building the Garrison, and they were in temporary accommodation. For something to do, they had each set themselves a challenge.

One tree house was an enhancement to the Lodge at the Garrison, where visitors could climb the dozen steps and sit in comfort to watch the animals that came to the lake. It was made of the same timber as the other Garrison buildings currently under construction and was furnished for comfort.

The second one, that Athos constructed, was in the mopane woodlands by the smallest lagoon on the northern side of the reserve. That was for visitors too, but it had become a place where Athos felt at his most peaceful.

It was made of mopane logs gathered from the woodland floor, and was built in the branches of a large mopane tree, reached by a rope ladder that could be hauled up if necessary.

This one only had seating built into the interior walls. It was a round tree house and had a walkway around its outer circumference, which gave way to several branches that grew through the wooden platform that supported the structure.

It looked down on to the lagoon itself and to the wide river beyond. Athos thought it had the most spectacular view on the whole reserve. There was a safe place under the structure, which was basically a metal fence erected around the supporting trunk with a wide gate. Here, he could tether Roger safely inside on those lone occasions when he rode out by himself, either on duty or off. It was a place where his brothers knew they would find him. In the early days, he had not been careful in telling them his whereabouts when he was off duty, too caught up in his established isolation. It was something he had learned and the soldier in him knew the need to do that and eventually, as he realised his friends respected his privacy, he found he had no reason why he should not let them know of his visits here.

It was a place where he especially loved to watch the sunrise.

The African sunrise was a beautiful thing to behold.

The first night, he had spent the whole night there, in his tree house, beneath the myriad of stars. As dawn broke, the dark sky slowly turned orange, spreading out across the land. A bright gold disc slowly came into view, bathing his face in warmth. Dark shadows slowly turned into trees and familiar landscape as the sunlight spilled across the water, so that for a brief time, sky and earth together were a vivid orange. The world was golden, and in this hour of quiet contemplation and stillness, all was right with it. Soon a cacophony of waking animal noise began to permeate and join the night time calls of the nocturnal creatures, which were now diminishing, as they sought sleep.

Athos loved each brand new day, and would never tire of watching one unfold.

It was while he was sitting cross-legged on the walkway on this particular morning that he spotted four boats on the river. He had not seen these boats before. There were two men in each boat. They did not look like tourists to him; they all seemed dressed the same from his distance; all dressed in black; backs straight, definitely _not_ the look of tourists, who would rarely sit still. He watched until the boats were out of sight.

Who were these men and what were they doing?

Was he being paranoid, he wondered?

His gut feeling said not.

He returned to the Garrison later that morning with an uneasy feeling that something sinister was happening.

 **To be continued ...**


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

 ***WARNING** : Poachers have been this way.

oOo

The day of the new vet's arrival dawned, and Aramis had volunteered to set off to meet the plane, which was bringing d'Artagnan to his new post.

Neither Porthos or Aramis had met d'Artagnan in person, but they had spoken over Skype, and Aramis and taken him on a brief tour of the animal facility, using the video on his phone. He showed him the clinic, and then went outside to film the animal enclosures. After that, Aramis decided to cross the Garrison compound to the Lodge to show him the communal kitchen and lounge. The tour was abandoned shortly after, when d'Artagnan started to get seasick.

"I thought plastic surgeons had steady hands," he muttered, as the image bobbed up and down. Aramis moved like a cat, but his enthusiasm sometimes got the better of him.

"Well, we do not usually walk around when we are operating," Aramis had smiled, not offended in the slightest. Aramis touched a hand to his forehead in a flourish and gave him a bow, by way of ending the call.

d'Artagnan had laughed and mirrored the farewell. He thought that he would like this man. Once he got the background story on him.

d'Artagnan's friends could tell them that if he had one vice, it was his curiosity to know his colleagues. He wanted back-story and was tenacious about procuring it. If he had not become a vet, he would have been a psychologist; or a detective. He had what his mother called an "enquiring mind."

Athos would grow to call it "intrusive, often bordering on the intolerable."

"One day, he will wake up and find that during the night _I_ was curious about what he would look like with no eyebrows," he had muttered to Porthos, who had roared with laughter, nearly spitting out his coffee.

Now though, as Aramis sat in one of the Garrison's 4 x 4's with his hat low over his eyes, waiting for Treville's aircraft to taxi down their small airstrip; Athos and Porthos were six miles away, standing over the carcass of a female elephant.

"It's recent," Athos said softly, sadly, as he crouched beside the body. His camera swung from the strap around his neck, and he held it still as he rose slowly from her side; his hand momentarily reaching out to gently stroke her flank. A last act of human kindness, to counter her previous brutal encounter with "humanity."

Her tusks had been taken.

Athos had seen this several times on their tours in other parts of war torn Africa, but the sight always broke his heart, as the rest of her was untouched.

Hearing a noise behind them, they turned and Porthos pointed out a young male elephant calf standing with its head down near a group of trees. He was swaying from side to side; his trunk barely reaching the ground.

"Bastards," muttered Porthos.

"We'd better radio this in," he added, as he moved back toward their vehicle.

Athos had stepped back and was looking around the body, checking out the various tracks.

"They didn't even try to cover their tracks," he called over his shoulder, as Porthos reached into the truck for the radio mike.

His mind went back to the men he had seen on the river two months ago. He had had an uneasy feeling as he watched their boat head upriver.

Looking back at Athos's words, Porthos tensed.

There was movement in the bush to the left of Athos and he could tell from the way Athos had stilled that he was aware of it too.

"Get over here," Porthos called as softly as he could, but needing to get his message across.

Athos took a step back and then slowly turned and walked carefully back to the relative safety of the 4x4. Luckily, Porthos had parked between two trees and their vehicle would be fairly safe.

They watched as a small herd of elephants swung through the bush and moved toward the dead female.

They approached her gently, all laying their trunks across her still form.

"The noise they make," breathed Porthos, as they listened to the elephants keening.

"They are mourning," Athos whispered.

They had seen this before too; fortunately not on Heshima. The first time, they had both shed silent tears. It was no different this time.

"They see him," Athos said quietly, as two of the herd's females moved away toward the calf, still rocking from side to side a short distance away.

As they approached him, their trunks wound around his, before moving over his back in long sweeping strokes.

Then, one female gently wrapped her trunk around one of his front legs and pulled him forward and they put him between them as they walked quietly away. The others joined them and they all slowly walked back into the bush, leaving their dead female family member to her natural destruction.

When they were long gone, Athos quietly turned the key in the ignition and they reversed back along the track before finding the trail back to the Garrison.

oOo

When they returned to the Garrison, they met up with Aramis and d'Artagnan and told them what had happened.

"I should go," d'Artagnan said straight away, jumping to his feet.

"It's your first day," Athos replied, holding up his hand. "You have just arrived. I will make a report, and we have taken photographs. I will bring them over later for you. There is no point in going there, unless you specifically wanted to take any samples. She was shot with a large bore rifle, and her tusks were taken."

Porthos threw himself down heavily in a chair in the lounge.

"Bloody poachers," he growled, visibly shaken.

Athos stood leaning against the wall, his arms folded. He was looking at the ground; saying nothing. d'Artagnan saw how Aramis lightly touched his arm as he passed into the kitchen.

"I don't suppose anyone is hungry," Aramis called over his shoulder, "but I will make something, and then one of us will show you around the Garrison, d'Artagnan."

"The Garrison?" d'Artagnan asked, looking up. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Have I walked into an army barracks?"

"If you had, we wouldn't be sittin' 'ere chattin'" Porthos replied, and the mood lightened a little.

Athos kicked off from the wall and followed Aramis into the kitchen, intent on doing something that would take his mind off the horror they had witnessed.

An hour later, the kitchen cupboards had been rearranged and fridge had been cleaned within an inch of its life.

It was Porthos, in the meantime, who showed d'Artagnan around the Garrison.

 **To be continued ...**


	8. Chapter 8

**I hope you are all having a lovely Christmas.** **May all your wishes come true.**

oOo

 **CHAPTER EIGHT**

 **Where we meet a faithful friend.**

"How did you get into this?" d'Artagnan asked on one of his first evenings, when they were sitting in front of an open fire behind the house, off-duty, drinking beer. He knew Porthos and Athos had been soldiers and Aramis had moved around before holding a lucrative medical position in Paris, but he was curious as to their change in careers.

"Got fed up of inhospitable places," Porthos replied, poking at the fire with a stick, and watching as the flames crackled and sparks lifted effortlessly into the night sky.

African days were hot, to say the least, but the nights could be cold and the fire-pit was a welcome place where they could gather, cook steaks, let off a little steam or relax; listening to the sounds that surrounded them, under the pitch black star-strewn skies.

"This place must have its moments," d'Artagnan said.

"It does, but the animals more than make up for it," Athos replied, speaking for the first time.

"How long have you been involved with animals?" Aramis asked the young man then.

"I grew up on a farm in Lupiac in Gascony," d'Artagnan replied, "and then, during my training, I worked in a number of zoo's and sanctuaries, before transferring to Paris. I always wanted to work with the large animals. I'd just spent a year on Kruger before Treville talked me into coming here. It's nice to be my own boss."

"You don't look old enough to have done all that," Porthos said.

"I'm twenty nine!" d'Artagnan sighed. "I get that all the time. Three years Uni, seven years vet training, one year in Africa.

"You might look a bit older if you cut yer hair," Porthos laughed.

d'Artagnan's hand rose unconsciously and stroked his long dark hair away from the left side of his face, tucking it behind one ear. He then tucked both hands under his arms defensively. He looked about twenty, Porthos thought, watching him in amusement.

"What about you?" d'Artagnan asked, looking at the large dark-skinned man now intent on feeding an equally large white dog the last of his steak.

"Ex Army," Porthos said. "I bought a zoo. Behind a bar. It was a mess. Didn't like to think of the animals suffering, so I bought it. That's how I got into this. Treville was our CO," he said, looking at Athos, "We were on vacation in France at the time, me and Ath. I thought Treville would go mad, but he helped us rescue the lions from the bar. I didn't want to keep them in captivity so he put us in touch with the Born Free Foundation and we eventually repatriated them in Namibia. We released them about eighteen months ago. We keep track of them and they're doin' fine."

Porthos looked at Athos, who smiled gently back at him, his face softened by the memory.

"What about the rest of the zoo?" d'Artagnan asked.

"All rehomed. They were mainly monkeys. There weren't many but then I shut it down, and sold it to a property developer. He built apartments, and I sunk the profit into this place."

"You all have shares?"

"Me and Athos do. Aramis came later. It's up to him if he wants to buy in," Porthos added.

Aramis smiled. He was quite at home here and in all probability, he too would invest in Heshima.

Athos had not spoken much, and d'Artagnan couldn't read him at all. He was due to go out on a tour of the reserve with him in the morning, so he may learn a little more about him then. Or maybe not. At that point, Athos rose and said goodnight, before striding off to check the Garrison's perimeter fencing and buildings.

d'Artagnan watched him go, before turning to Porthos.

"What about him?" d'Artagnan asked, once he was out of earshot.

"Athos was our Captain," Porthos replied. He said no more. There was obviously a story there, but d'Artagnan didn't want to push it. After a few moments though, Porths leant over conspiratorially.

"He's also a Comte. Don't tell him I told you. And _don't_ mention it."

d'Artagnan's eyebrows rose to his hairline. He nodded toward the dog, which had been sitting with them and had followed Athos away from the fire and now stuck with him as he checked the fencing.

"That's Musket," Porthos said, following d'Artagnan's gaze.

He was a large, short-coated white dog, with a long muzzle and over-large ears which went whichever way they wanted. His only colouring was a dark brown patch over one eye. d'Artagnan had noticed that one of the dog's eyes was a pale blue and the other was brown.

"Athos rescued 'im from a dog fighting ring in a local township. He was only a pup back then. They were takin' bets on how long he would last against two wild dogs they had in a cage around the back. Half an hour later, the wild dog's cage was empty and Musket was in the back of Athos's truck."

It turned out the dog was deaf, Porthos explained. "Though, _he_ don't know it. He makes up for it with his sense of smell, an' there ain't nothin' wrong with his eyesight."

"Athos christened 'im "Musket, because of his "loud staccato bark," as he put it; probably due to his deafness."

"Athos has taught him signs," Aramis took up the tale. "They communicate quietly, using signs and body language. Musket has grown from a frightened, anxious puppy into a one-man well adjusted dog that would protect his master with his life."

"He's got spooky eyes though," Porthos added.

d'Artagnan nodded;

"Hereditary deafness is most commonly linked to the genes which influence pigmentation of the coat and eyes. If the inner ear is unpigmented then development can be interrupted resulting in deafness. White, merle and piebald coated dogs are most prone to this, and since the same genes influence eye colour, many have blue eyes. Occasionally, one blue, one brown, like him," d'Artagnan said.

He looked up and saw two pairs of brown eyes looking quizzically at him.

"Sorry. Here endeth the lesson," he grinned.

d'Artagnan continued watching Athos, who was now making his way to his quarters, dog in tow.

 _Not only an animal lover, but a soft-hearted one._

This man sounded interesting.

 **To be continued ...**

oOo

 **A/N**

Some years ago, we rescued a very poorly, very underweight Staffordshire Bull Terrier. She had been born deaf, and used for breeding (can you believe it!). She had never seen the outside world; everything was new, despite being around five years old. I had to teach her everything. It was some weeks before I could leave the house, such was her anxiety. Gradually, I taught her signs and she became more relaxed. We had her for three years, and she travelled the UK with us.

Deaf dogs are like velcro. They stick to you like glue. A bit of patience and slow, steady movements, a cosy bed and lots of "thumbs up" works wonders. Rosie became a lovely, loving dog. She finally got her break. I believe she really enjoyed those last three years of her life with us. Sadly, she was taken suddenly, but I had the honour of helping her from this world, from her favourite place, wrapped in my arms. So from Rosie and me, please do not be put off if the dog you are considering is deaf. The rewards are immense.

I dedicate this chapter to that little scrap with big brown eyes, who got her second chance, and taught me much.


	9. Chapter 9

Many thanks for your reviews and your kind comments about Rosie.

As I didn't post on Monday (Christmas Day), I'm posting this extra chapter today to get me back on track.

oOo

 _Time for a little male bonding?_

 **CHAPTER NINE**

After he had settled in, d'Artagnan was due a tour of the reserve.

The morning dawned the same as any other, clear and hot. d'Artagnan did not think it would be a good idea to keep Athos waiting and so he had risen early and left his lodge, hurriedly making his way to the main building, well within time.

Even so, Athos was waiting for him in the Land Rover, his hat pulled low, staring straight ahead; his expression unreadable. He had not had much to do with Athos since he arrived, but had had a brief introduction when Treville and Athos had visited him at Kruger where he was working. Other than that, Athos kept himself to himself.

Now, he was to spend the whole day with him as Athos showed him around. He estimated that Athos was perhaps six or seven years older than him and had obviously led an interesting life as a soldier and apparently, a comte.

"So, what's first?" d'Artagnan said, as he bounced into the seat; determined not to apologise for being early.

Athos did not turn his head, but side-eyed him as he turned the key in the ignition.

"First, put your seat belt on," Athos murmured.

" _Seriously_?"

Athos did turn his head then and pinned him into his seat with a mute stare.

The seat belt was duly clicked into place.

The next two hours was spent traversing the lower section of the reserve. As Head Ranger, Athos not only knew his way around, he also knew where to find relevant herds, and he certainly knew how to handle the vehicle.

He stopped frequently to talk to the villagers, sometimes in their own Bantu language.

Athos then took d'Artagnan to the Tswana village.

Nyack waved them over to sit with him under a dried grass covered canopy.

" _Habari,_ Nyack," Athos said, sitting down opposite the old man.

" _Siku njema_ , Athos," Nyack replied, "Who is this fine young warrior you bring with you?"

"This is d'Artagnan," Athos replied, smiling to himself as the old man patted the floor next to him and the young man sat down.

Soon, d'Artagnan was surrounded by excited children. He had some experience of interacting with local communities from his time on Kruger, and after half an hour of paying his respects to Nyack and the other elders; he went back to the truck and pulled out a bag.

Athos watched as he began to hand out pens to the eager hands that stretched up to him. This is what the children usually wanted, they were all desperate to learn, and he had soon found out that it was not sweets they wanted, but the means to write.

"There is paper under the seat," Athos had said, when all the pens were gone, and d'Artagnan went back to the truck to retrieve a pile of notebooks.

After they had drunk the palm wine that they were offered, d'Artagnan gravitated toward the herd of cattle and goats as the back of the village. Their main income came from animal husbandry. They also grew corn and sorghum; a grain used for food, animal fodder, and the production of alcoholic beverages; it was a staple for poor and rural people.

Nyack nodded his permission for d'Artagnan to take a look at the animals and d'Artagnan made a list of treatments he could offer. With an agreement to return within the week, they took their leave.

The children ran after them, laughing and waving, as they climbed into their vehicle.

"Seat belt," Athos said, as they disappeared in a cloud of dust toward the river, several miles away.

On the way, Athos talked about the Tswana.

"It is important we work with the Tswana," he said, "we rely on each other. What you did back there was very respectful. They are a proud people, who know that their country is under siege from the outside world. And yet, they still welcome us. Many of their men have left to find work in the mining and industrial industries."

"Thank you for bringing me here," d'Artagnan said as they drove.

"Aramis and Porthos and I all come here. I am sure any assistance you can offer professionally will be very much appreciated," Athos replied.

The ride back to the Garrison took in more of the reserve, skirting around the lagoons. At one point, d'Artagnan thought he caught sight of a tree house, but they did not stop again.

"It's hot," Athos said, passing d'Artagnan a bottle of water. "That's enough for today."

It seemed Athos was done teaching, and sank into silence; but the drive back was pleasant. Soon, they passed through the gates of the Garrison and Athos pulled up in front of the main Lodge.

"Tomorrow, we fly," he said, before jumping out of the vehicle and striding into the building, dog once more in tow.

"Get yer bearin's?" Porthos asked later as the two of them were preparing dinner in the kitchen.

"Yes," d'Artagnan said, thoughtfully. "Athos is very knowledgeable about the local people."

"He's an anthropologist," Porthos replied casually. "But don't tell 'im I told you. And don't ..."

"I know," the young man interrupted. "...don't mention it."

"Now yer gettin' it," Porthos laughed, passing him the spoon. "Stir that."

oOo

Very early the next morning, Athos was again waiting for him outside next to the truck, which was already idling. d'Artagnan was surprised to see his dog, Musket, sitting on the bed of the truck, behind the cab.

"He likes to fly," said Athos, as he tossed him the keys and they climbed into the cab of the truck. d'Artagnan drove as Athos directed him to the small air strip a mile away.

Unlocking the small hangar at the side of the strip, Athos pulled open the doors to reveal a small twin engine Cessna aircraft.

"How long have you been flying?" d'Artagnan asked, warily.

"Long enough," Athos replied, flicking a finger to the dog, who instantly jumped up onto the wing and clambered aboard, squeezing himself behind the seats but sitting upright and looking out of the window, his long tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth.

He had obviously done that before.

d'Artagnan had figured out that Athos was not a morning person, after their drive to the air strip had been one where only one of them took part in the conversation, and that person was definitely not Athos.

Athos taxied expertly out of the hangar after making all the safety checks, leaving d'Artagnan to close the doors. d'Artagnan then jogged over and climbed in, and they both put headphones on.

Finally, Athos spoke; radioing in their position and estimated flight time back to the Garrison, before looking across at his passenger.

Athos took the aircraft up to speed and expertly lifted it off the ground.

"What's that you've got there," he asked, looking at the bag d'Artagnan was resting on his knees.

"Laptop," d'Artagnan said, mischievously.

Athos sighed. "Yes, I can see that," he said archly, banking suddenly so that d'Artagnan almost banged his head on the window.

"Hey!" he cried, which merely elicited a raised eye brow and sideways glare from the pilot.

"I've got software on here that counts the herd numbers," he replied, settling himself and unzipping the case.

"Really? I have not heard of that," Athos replied.

"I designed it," came the reply.

Athos again raised an eloquent eyebrow at him in silent enquiry and d'Artagnan could not help give him a smug grin.

"Better than manual counting," he replied.

"Indeed. That will be ... a tremendous help to us," Athos said quietly.

d'Artagnan thought he caught a fleeting smile.

"Seat belt, d'Artagnan," Athos said, back to business.

After that, it was an incredible day. Athos pointed out the herds, as d'Artagnan tapped on his laptop, each tap signifying an animal. The camera he used placed a grid over the image, and the software counted the animals in each quadrant. The quadrants could be zoomed in or out, thus capturing the moving animals. By multiplying by the number of quadrants, it gave a fairly accurate figure for the number in each herd.

The range of animals they saw from the air was diverse. The watering holes and lagoons were being well used. d'Artagnan even thought he caught sight of the tree house on the edge of the mopane woodlands that Athos pointed out.

They saw no other vehicles to cause alarm, bearing in mind the elephant that had been killed the day d'Artagnan first joined them.

Finally, Athos sought out the rhinos.

Dropping down, he flew straight ahead, pointing to the horizon.

There ahead, were a mixed herd of eight black rhinos. Sensing the plane overhead, they started to run, kicking up red dust and Athos pulled up a little, until they settled.

And then, d'Artagnan saw Athos smile for the first time.

Turning his head quickly toward d'Artagnan, he pointed down.

d'Artagnan craned his neck down and there, coming up, was a small, white rhino.

"Thamani?" he whispered.

"Thamani," Athos replied.

d'Artagnan had never seen Athos look so relaxed, and ... _happy._ There was no other word for it. He was like a proud parent, and he was reminded of Treville's words to him on their first meeting.

" _You'll have to fight him for her."_

But d'Artagnan knew that there would be no such contest. Looking as much at Athos as at the white rhino calf running with her family below, he knew he didn't stand a chance.

By the end of the flight and the previous day's drive, d'Artagnan had learnt more about the terrain and the local communities than he had in his previous ten months in Africa.

He had also learnt quite a lot about the Head Ranger.

 **To be continued ...**

oOo

 **A/N:**

I should mention here that Swahili is one of the Bantu languages, used in Botswana; although the official language is English.

" _Habari"_ : (Hello/Good morning) - generally to older people.

" _Siku njema"_ : (Good Day)

I know nothing about herd-counting software; it's a product of my imagination and that poetic license of mine; but I have drunk palm wine in Africa.


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER TEN**

D'Artagnan fitted in well.

Mere weeks after he arrived, the conservation compound was holding two injured cheetahs and three antelope, all being treated for eventual release back into the wild. He set up other pens for transient occupation. He had calculated the sizes of buffalo, giraffe, and elephant and rhino herds. He had set up a lab in his facility and spent much of his time there each day; until Porthos dragged him out for lunch or dinner.

As medical men, albeit with completely different disciplines, he and Aramis spent time together. Today, Aramis was due on his bi-monthly rounds of the nearby villages. On this occasion, d'Artagnan was to accompany him as he was developing the same routine in offering care to the local villager's animals.

Treville encouraged them both as it was important that the reserve became part of the community. They could offer employment and social and medical care to the community, and in return, receive vital support and surveillance against any potential human threats.

They arrived in Nkosi's village, and Aramis greeted her brother, Oba, one of her three brothers, all full blooded Tswana; unlike Nkosi herself.

Oba walked with them through the village to his father's house. They were always made very welcome here. Everyone looked up from their work as they passed by and gave them a bright smile or a wave. Children ran to them with longing eyes and hands outstretched for pens and paper, as had become their custom to give.

Porthos had become a regular here too. As the children were too poor to go to school, he had set up a monthly class to teach them to read and write. He would have liked to come more often, but his work on the reserve prevented it and so he did what he could on his days off.

It turned out that Aramis was a crack shot, and he had set up a target practise range for the men of the village. He never missed. If d'Artagnan needed someone to wield a tranquiliser gun, Aramis was the man.

"How come a surgeon can shoot so well?" d'Artagnan had asked one evening when they were all playing cards and drinking. It all got a bit raucous, as they realised Porthos was cheating. His loud laugh rumbled around the Lodge.

Aramis simply smiled.

"Same sort of skills, mon ami," he replied. "A steady hand, precision, and a strong belief that I am the best," he laughed.

Porthos snorted.

"An' a smatterin' of modesty?" he laughed.

"Whatever for?" Aramis smiled.

d'Artagnan laughed, but one day he would get the man's story out of him.

Slowly but surely, d'Artagnan was becoming a part of this tightly knit group of men, who all had different skills, but who all seemed to have something in common.

There was a story in each of them and d'Artagnan was a very curious man.

oOo

 **The Okavango River:**

It was Athos's and Portho's custom to check the reserve by quadrant. They had wardens and volunteers who were all tasked with this and it was an important part of their work.

The Okavango River rose in the Angolan highlands and flowed over one thousand miles, passing through Namibia before entering Botswana and forming the Okavango Delta. It was this river that helped to sustain the Delta and its varied habitat of mammals, birds, fish and other animals.

They did not own the river and access was strictly controlled. It was used by others offering safari's, again under strict controls, but it bordered Heshima and was an important area and part of the experience they offered. They were involved in several conservation projects on some of the secluded and remote islands along the way. Heshima wardens, many of whom were indigenous people, would take their visitors onto the river, manoeuvring traditional mokoro boats through the reed banks, taking in the resident wildlife. Their wardens were also eyes and ears, and could report any problems or incidents; sometimes, other tourist concerns would venture too close to wildlife, or too far into the reed banks, although this was rare.

Today, it was their turn to survey the river, which ran along the border with Botswana and Namibia, dropping four metres in areas to form rapids, visible when the river was low in the dry season between June and August. At this time, the Delta was prone to flooding, as the river filtered down from Angola; increasing the Delta to three times its normal size, and attracting animals from miles around.

On this particular morning, Porthos and Athos were following the river east to west, when they suddenly heard screaming.

Pulling the 4x4 over, Porthos switched off the engine, and they both stood up in the vehicle to scan ahead. Seeing nothing, they jumped out and followed the sound, which was quite close now. Ahead of them was a swathe of tall grass, and beyond lay the Okavango River.

They pushed through the grass, following the sound and there, ahead of them on the riverbank, they could see a village woman screaming and waving toward the water.

Porthos got to her first and took hold of her, gently reaching out and after a slight hesitation, pulling her around to face him in an attempt to find out what was wrong. The woman was getting hysterical, but he did not speak her dialect and could only follow her flailing arm and she waved toward the water. Aware of Athos now beside him, they both looked to where she was pointing, but there is nothing to see.

Then, further down river they spotted a partially submerged native canoe.

As they watched, a head suddenly came up out of the water and the woman shouted, trying to pull out of Porthos's hands. He struggled to hold on to her but before he could do anything, he caught a sudden movement behind him and a blur as Athos surged ahead of them and dove into the water.

Porthos shouted at Athos, staggering back and almost falling over the boots that Athos had obviously discarded the moment he had joined them.

Porthos knew he is an excellent swimmer, but the river was known to have hippo; one of the most dangerous animals in the world.

 _Oh_ , he thought, as he looked across at the far bank, _and bloody crocs._

Athos swam fast toward the boy, but the current was strong and before he could get to him, the boy had disappeared below the murky surface.

Athos stopped and looked around him; quietly treading water and getting his bearings. He saw Porthos and the distraught woman on the bank behind him, and turned back toward the river. As he did so, the boy's hand came up and Athos was off again.

But the boy didn't surface. Athos took a breath and dove beneath the surface.

The woman stilled in Porthos's arms and they both stared at the now still water, as the minutes ticked agonisingly by.

Athos suddenly surged up and took a breath, looking frantically around, before diving back down again.

The third time he surfaced, Athos could feel himself losing his energy.

Porthos saw the moment Athos gave up searching; but in an awful way, he was relieved.

Until he looked at the far bank, and saw the croc sliding silently into the water.

" _Athos! Get back 'ere NOW!"_ Porthos shouted, pointing at the far bank.

Athos turned and realising what Porthos meant, he began to swim for his life.

The woman started to sob now, but her legs were buckling and Porthos gently but swiftly lowered her to the ground, before hurling himself down to the edge of the water.

He couldn't see the croc now, but Athos was near, so he charged into the water and managed to snag his arm and haul him from the shallows. He knew that a lot of croc attacks happened in the shallows, and his adrenaline was surging in his veins, making the blood pound in his head.

He never did see the croc but he had an awful feeling it was very close, as he tightened his grip for the last few yards. Athos got his feet down and staggered from the water and Porthos lowered him down, before returning to the woman.

Just then, the water behind them started to thrash and they both looked at the familiar sight as a crocodile did the tell-tale series of rolls, a method of drowning their prey. In this case, the boy was more than likely dead and was spared the horror. Then all went quiet.

Behind them, the woman was making a terrible sound. Athos was sitting up and staring at the now-still water with haunted eyes. Porthos reached down, and squeezed his shoulder, before making his way back to the distraught woman. As he reached out to her, the air was rent as the woman screamed her boy's name;

And Porthos froze.

" _Thomas!"_

On the bank, he heard a loud groan from Athos and turning back toward the river, he saw him slump onto his side.

 **To be continued ...**


	11. Chapter 11

A/N **Doubtful Guest -** You've got me. Any wine would always win :)

oOo

 **CHAPTER ELEVEN**

Later:

It didn't take long to find Athos; they knew which bar he favoured when the mood was on him. Looking around the dark, warm interior, Porthos and d'Artagnan saw him, alone in a corner. He was not drunk. He knew better than to drink the local beer, and he had swallowed enough of the river water to give his stomach a break. But Porthos recognised the familiar slump of the shoulders, the chin buried in his chest, the fist squeezed so tight his knuckles were white.

He did not hear them approach.

"Alright?" Porthos asked quietly as they took a seat at his table.

Athos raised baleful eyes and took them both in.

"What are you doing here?" he said in the quiet flat tone he used when his guard was up.

"We're Nkosi's rescue party," d'Artagnan said.

"I do not need rescuing," Athos growled, glaring at him.

d'Artagnan met the glare, before looking away.

"Do you want to be left alone?" d'Artagnan replied carefully, taking him in once more. This was a side of Athos he had not seen before, but Porthos had briefed him on the likely outcomes on their drive over. They had been been surprised though, that their friend was not drunk; merely emotionally drained it seemed.

Athos looked down. Before he could answer, there was a commotion outside and a local man threw himself into the bar, shouting for a doctor. Everything went quiet as people stared at the man, whose eyes were wild as he looked desperately around.

Porthos looked around the bar; no-one responded.

"Where's Aramis when you need 'im?!" he muttered.

d'Artagnan sighed and tentatively raised his hand.

"Grab a bottle of whisky," d'Artagnan urged Porthos, who looked at him in surprise as he stood up.

"To sterilise," d'Artagnan smirked, heading out of the door after the man.

Porthos did as he was asked and quickly followed.

They could hear the screams before they reached the small house. The people who owned this house were poor, as were all the villagers; but they kept their humble dwellings clean. It was dark inside, with just two oil lamps burning and d'Artagnan saw the woman on the floor; her hands twisting tightly in the nest of blankets beneath her.

Porthos's eyes widened and he looked at d'Artagnan.

"She's 'aving a baby," Porthos breathed, as the air was rent with a wild scream, and d'Artagnan was galvanised into action.

Soon, there was water boiling on a small stove in the corner, but d'Artagnan opened the whisky and doused his hands in it first, before drying them and dropping to his knees. Porthos knelt beside the woman and took her hand. The sight of Porthos leaning over her seemed to calm her; her husband had panicked and was now at the door with Athos, who had followed them and was now blocking people who were standing outside; having been drawn by the noise.

d'Artagnan tucked his hair behind his ears and put his head down and after a very quick but precise examination he announced that this was a breech baby, and would need to be turned.

The woman screamed again, and her grip on Porthos's hand tightened.

From Porthos's point of view, what followed seemed to go on for a very long time, although it probably didn't. He was fully focussed on the woman, who was in obvious pain as d'Artagnan carefully manipulated the baby around; grateful that it felt quite small. Soon, the baby was moving down and crowning, and he was grinning up at Porthos.

"She needs to push now," d'Artagnan said, wiping his brow roughly with his sleeve.

He didn't know the word for "push," but Athos relayed the request to the woman's husband, using a simple sign, and the man duly shouted;

" _Sukuma mke; sukuma_ , _Mesego_!" (push wife; push Mesego!)

The woman gathered herself and with one long scream, Mesego delivered her baby.

"It's a girl," d'Artagnan announced, grinning.

After a short, stunned silence, everyone looked at each other and broke out into laughter as the baby took its first breath and let out a loud wail.

An older woman then pushed her way into the room. Apparently she was the village midwife, who initially could not be found, sending the baby's father into a panic and a flight to the bar in search of anyone who could help.

After the initial excitement, things settled down then; everyone content to just look at the baby and smile. The midwife then took charge and checked mother and baby, before settling down on a nearby stool. Now that she had arrived, it seemed she would be staying for a while.

The husband, Baruti, then asked d'Artagnan's name and frowned as he tried to get his tongue around it.

Mesego and Baruti whispered together before announcing they were calling their baby "Kiingereza" – Swahili for dart; the only part of his name that made sense to them.

Mesego then put the baby into d'Artagnan's arms and he held the beautiful dark-skinned baby in wonder, her huge brown eyes stared up at him, and he laughed.

"Hello, Kiingereza," he said gently; silently quite pleased that Aramis was not with them after all.

Turning, he saw Athos, standing in the doorway.

Porthos smiled and patted the woman's hand.

"Asante," she whispered to him. ("Thank you.")

Clapping d'Artagnan on the back Porthos rose and walked over to the doorway.

"After death, there's always life, Athos," he said quietly, locking eyes with Athos before drawing him into a hug.

Far from pulling away, Athos hugged back.

oOo

Heshima was beginning to generate a steady income now by taking conservation tours from world-wide organisations, showing people how wild animals interacted in the wild and how to set up their own conservation programmes. They also had a resort that catered for a small number of vetted wealthy holidaymakers, and d'Artagnan was working on a breeding programme.

As well as the number of lodges within the Garrison, the hotel half a mile from the compound which was run by Nkosi was well established and gaining excellent feedback. Treville was adept at achieving Government grants and bringing new backers on board, and Athos often accompanied him to meetings of Government officials; where he proved to be an excellent negotiator.

For the day to day running of the reserve as well as monitoring and caring for the land and the animals, all had their own duties. Porthos undertook guided mobile safari's, as did Athos, who also flew the plane; for tourists, backers, and for monitoring the herds of different species. They both did horseback safari's. All were very lucrative and maintained by high quality service. They had a small army of both paid and volunteer wardens made up of indigenous people and those seconded internationally to study conservation.

"We have a visitor in Lodge Three," Treville said one morning a few weeks later at breakfast. "He got in last night, a late booking."

Treville was on one of his rare visits to Heshima. As time progressed, he hoped to spend more time on the reserve, but for the moment he left the day to day running to his men while he established a firm business plan.

"Business or pleasure?" Athos asked, looking up at the distinct tone he detected in Treville's voice.

"I don't know yet, I have not had the chance to speak to him."

"What am I missin'?" Porthos asked, as Treville looked thoughtful.

Treville gave him a sideways glance.

"Nothing."

" _Jean_ ," Athos said quietly.

Treville sighed.

"There is just something familiar about him."

"Do you want me to show 'im around?" Porthos asked.

Treville caught his meaning and smiled. Porthos would check him out.

"If you don't mind."

"Course not," Porthos said, snagging a piece of toast and striding out.

Later, Porthos reported that he was a "right boring git," which made Treville smile. He could hardly file such a succinct report, but for the time being, he tucked it at the back of his mind and went back to London.

A few days later though, the mysterious man, and Treville's initial reaction to him, was still troubling Athos.

During a break from mucking out the stables, Porthos searched through his photos from the day he had spent with the man and found one with the man in the background.

He brought it back to show Athos.

"What was his name?" Athos asked, as he sat down on a nearby bale of hay.

"John Smith," Porthos said, dubiously.

"I doubt that," Athos replied. "I think Treville is right to be troubled," he added, staring at the photo.

Porthos turned and quickly went to Lodge Three, to confront the man; but it was empty. Whoever this man was, he had gone; drawers and wardrobe empty.

"Scan the photo and email it to Treville, Porthos. Let's make this official," Athos said. "He is in London for a few weeks; he has contacts in the Metropolitan Police. It's been quite a while, but I am _sure_ that this is our friend from the auction."

Athos stared at the photograph one last time, before handing it back to Porthos.

"I am sure it is. You don't happen to have a photo of the back of his head, I suppose? It's all I saw," he said, and Porthos laughed, but there was no humour in it.

"Why would he turn up here, now?" Athos murmured to himself, after Porthos had gone.

On receipt of the image of the photograph, Treville sent it off immediately to his contacts and also to Europol, who could work wonders with photography of vague quality.

Soon he was texting back; the familiar ringtone alerting Porthos that it was Treville.

Porthos grunted as he read the message.

"What?" Athos asked, who was driving them to Maun for supplies.

"Treville's identified 'im. He's a bit of a rogue; been done for fraud and conning people out of their life savin's all over Europe. Oh, scratch that; he's a villain. He's also been done for assault. He's got a nasty temper on him apparently; nearly killed a woman, but she wouldn't press charges. That says somethin'.

"Name?" Athos asked, as he pulled over.

"Guy de Rochefort," Porthos pronounced carefully; passing the phone to Athos to read the text for himself. Treville had also included a recent photograph.

"How can a man like that afford to bid in an auction for thousands of square miles of African land?" Athos asked, looking across at Porthos.

Porthos tapped his fingers on the dashboard.

"Unless, he's part of a syndicate and has backers himself?" Porthos said.

Athos hummed in agreement, and then frowned;

"Why would he turn up now, after all this time?"

They both sat is silence for a few moments, before Athos spoke.

"I'll ask Treville if he can arrange to have his contacts keep this Rochefort under surveillance," he said, passing the phone back to Porthos, and starting the engine once more.

Porthos nodded;

"I think we might be in trouble," he grunted.

 **To be continued ...**

 **oOo**

 **A/N:** I will leave it to you to decide what ringtone Porthos allocated Treville :)


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** I would like to wish you All the Best for 2018. Each new year has its trials and tribulations; but also its joys and delights. May you know many, many more of the latter, dear readers.

oOo

 **CHAPTER TWELVE**

Yaroslav Krupin's operation was not large, but it was tight and powerful; a semi-autonomous cell where he gave the orders and his men obeyed them. He deployed those men where he needed them, depending on his current business.

Krupin himself was a brutal man, born in a remote part of northern Siberia and left to raise himself from a young age. He killed his first man when he was fourteen, and his second two months later. Later, he started out by operating protection rackets in the former Soviet Union, eventually adding arms dealing and cybercrime when the regime fell. Then, he started to acquire legitimate businesses, one of which was the supply of gas to St Petersburg, competing against established crime syndicates. Thus, he had never fallen foul of the law.

Now, his interest was in the oil business in Africa, but he also had an eye on the mining industry. Botswana had an established mining industry and a wealth of mineral deposits, which had brought it to his attention.

The Okavango Delta was of particular interest to him and he had hired a Frenchman, Guy de Rochefort, to oversee the acquisition of a huge track of land that was going up for auction in London. The man had impeccable credentials and he had given him autonomy to act.

Krupin's various other interests had taken him away and he had only become aware that something was amiss when he watched on-line as Rochefort suddenly left the auction, when the asking price was still within his means.

Rochefort had assured him he had everything under control and had a strategy in place. Initially, they had agreed on a watch and wait policy. Rochefort had used the time to recoup the funds he had gambled away, and after initially bluffing, he had transferred it back into the account it came from; getting Krupin off his back.

Krupin was no fool. He would enjoy watching this man, but he had his own deadlines to keep elsewhere, so he had given him a mental deadline before he would take matters into his own hands. There was no point rocking the boat unnecessarily, and Krupin loved watching the game unfold. He understood Rochefort had patience, but he himself only had so much of it. And time was money. He therefore deployed his own men in the region on occasion, to monitor the situation and to watch Rochefort; although the man himself did not know either of those things.

Heshima had an abundance of water, unlike the majority of Botswana. Water was a necessity for industrial development but the diamond operations were sewn up between the Government and large scale corporations, the main one being the De Beers Corporation. Diamond processing was the mainstay of the country's economy, which interested Krupin. To have such leverage, were he to discover diamonds on Heshima! The resultant financial gain was mind-blowing to him.

Rochefort would be a welcome scapegoat-in-waiting, once he had wreaked havoc and destroyed Treville. It would be a simple matter to walk in after and take the land and all Treville had built up. Treville's backers would lose faith in him as he proved he could not control what was happening on Heshima. Krupin would then step in with a most lucrative offer, given the chaos that would overtake Treville's operation and his backers would bite his hand off in order to save their investment.

Under cover of the newly resurrected reserve, now under his control, he had plans to then survey the land for diamond deposits by satellite. Once he had that information, the highest bidder would come running.

He already had one of Treville's backers lined up to assist in his future plans; everyone had their price. If this man saw his investment floundering under the chaos he planned, he would be a vote against Treville in the boardroom when the time came.

If this land was as valuable as he believed it may be, though, it would still be there after he had completed his other business.

Then, Rochefort would know what it felt like to cross him; should he do so. And Krupin had every expectation that he would attempt to do just that.

oOo

Athos and Nkosi continued to become close friends, and would often take the horses for a ride on their day off. It would also give Athos a chance to check on the rhino herd and Thamani. This particular day, they took some food and plenty of water and headed off toward the lagoon tree house.

Nkosi was a good horsewoman and kept pace with Athos as they rode across the flat savannah.

She had watched as Athos and Porthos had each built their tree houses when they were constructing the Garrison; laughing at the depth of competition between the two. Even though the structures were some miles apart, it was as if each knew what the other was thinking and when they were both unveiled, the similarities were striking; bringing a smile to both their faces.

"That's amazin'" Porthos had said, as he looked up at Athos's structure. "We didn't even compare notes!"

Both were octagonal in shape and had a walkway around the circumference. Both had integral seating on the inside, although one was more luxurious. One of the differences was the material that Athos had used. As he had built it on the edge of the mopane woodland, that was the majority of wood used in its construction.

Porthos had built his in the traditional Tswana way, with a framework that he then dawbed with a wattle made with grass and mud.

Both had large windows to let in the light but Athos had built an additional seat in the heavy wooden eaves that supported the roof. There was a hatch in the roof that opened to the skies. It was his "stargazing perch." Once the hatch was opened fully on a dark evening, the stars that littered the heavens above were a sight to behold. Sitting there with only the noises of the night animals around him, he could identify the constellations and watch the occasional shooting star as it arced across the sky. It was a cliché, but the African night sky really did look like diamonds had been strewn across a black velvet cloak.

The first time Nkosi had accompanied him, she too was awe-struck. Even though this sky was so familiar to her, to view it here in this intimate setting with this man, made her breath catch. As he pointed out the constellations, she slipped quiet glances at his face. Once, he looked down and caught her staring up at him, but she thought she got away with it by naming the animals they could hear in the nearby woodland.

On this particular day, they rode to the tree house but did not go up. Tethering their horses beneath it, secure within the metal cagework Athos had built for that purpose, they had walked over to the lagoon and sat in the shade. Athos took the backpack off his shoulder and handed her the food he had prepared and they ate and laughed; Athos leant forward and wiped crumbs from her cheek in a bold brief moment, and she felt herself falling weightlessly into his green eyes.

Later, they went to visit her father, Nyack, in their village, another five miles east.

As they road side by side, Nkosi looked across at Athos.

"Do you miss your old life?" she asked softly.

His face clouded over and for a moment, she regretted asking.

She didn't think he was going to answer but then he looked across at her.

"Why would I? I have a new life here."

"No regrets?" she replied.

"I will always have regrets; but I cannot change the past, and I have learned from Porthos that I cannot continue to fight it," he replied. "Although, it may probably still fight me occasionally," he added wryly.

"We are reborn with each new day," Nkosi replied.

Athos thought of the first glorious morning he had seen break from the tree house.

"An admirable philosophy," he smiled.

He stretched out his hand toward her. Their horses had slowed to a walk while they had been talking and she now held out her hand and wrapped her slim fingers around his hand. They walked on like that for a few yards in silence.

Suddenly, she kicked her horse into a gallop.

"Last one there cooks dinner," she shouted over her shoulder.

Her laughter began to fade as she disappeared in a cloud of dust.

"Not fair," he growled, as he urged his horse into a gallop and charged after her.

As it turned out, they arrived at the outskirts of the village together, and agreed to share cooking duty.

After settling the horses, Athos watched Nkosi move around, talking to the women and children who always gathered to stare at the white men sitting with their elder. She laughed as the children pointed at him but if he saw them, he did not say anything. Eventually Nyack waved them away and they ran off, laughing.

Nyack saw how Athos watched Nkosi.

"She is a credit to you, Nyack," Athos said gently to the old man; aware he was under scrutiny.

"It takes a whole village to raise a child," the old man answered quietly. And then, he told Athos the full story.

His three sons had been born to his first wife, a native Tswana woman, their marriage arranged when Nyack was sixteen and she was fourteen. Their's had been a good marriage but it ended when his wife died after a long illness.

Nkosi's mother Jayne had been a white woman; his second wife, and their marriage had been blessed with a daughter.

When Nkosi's mother died suddenly, the whole village rallied to help him raise his four year old mixed-race daughter; having taken her as one of their own when she was first born. The women of the village had loved her mother, who had been an American missionary. Malaria had taken her, after all her years in Africa in good health it had been a terrible shock to everyone.

Nyack understood that for _him_ , love came above all else; above race and above tradition.

Now, that same daughter seemed to be drawn to this white man.

Nyack had made a promise to Jayne.

Watching Athos and Nkosi together, he was not unhappy.

 **To be continued ...**


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

 **A Promise Kept**

After Nkosi's mother had passed, Nyack had kept his promise to her that he would look after their daughter and allow her to be the woman she wished to be.

The structure and rituals of the Tswana people was complex and the life of a young woman was often taken up with duty; they were second in line to the males in the village. It was a patriarchal society, where roles were specifically defined. Jayne had known _that_ when she had fallen in love with Nyack Seko, a young prince in waiting but she had a strong will and she had forged her own unique place in the community.

She was loved and respected by the Tswana people, who traditionally were generous in taking others in, but her death had caused Nyack to increase his vigilance on his daughter and sometimes, he had little time left for his three sons. He loved his sons, but they were full-bloodied Tswana and were expected to be strong and follow their destiny within the community.

The youngest of his sons, Rach, was five years older than Nkosi. Then came his middle son, Tabansi and finally the oldest, Oba; who would eventually succeed his father.

As a child, Nkosi took up much of Nyack's time as, in his grief, he was bound by his promise. More often than not, he would send the women away and talk to, and teach his daughter himself. He saw his beloved Jayne in his daughter's bright eyes.

Now, Nkosi was a fine young woman, with respect for her traditions. He had seen how proud she was to wear the traditional dress of her people, but she was also quite happy to wear European dress of jeans and tee shirts. He knew that, even if _she_ did not know he knew. She always appeared in the village, when visiting, in traditional dress; straight skirt skimming her ankles and a short sleeve blouse, with her mother's jewellery; silver necklaces embellished with beads that she had crafted herself. Nkosi often wore a tribal headscarf tied tightly around her hair, which framed her face. Sometimes, she left her long thick black hair skimming down her back; other times, it was out of sight, beneath the scarf.

The old man laughed to himself when he thought how she must stop somewhere close and change from modern clothes in order not to offend him.

Foolish wonderful child.

oOo

When Treville was at Heshima, he liked nothing better than to take the horses out with Athos, Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan. The land was flat, which meant they could open the horses up to a gallup and race across the savannah. It was an excuse to enjoy time with his men; telling himself they were taking care of business.

Now, the five horses stood abreast, the riders passing bottled water between them; both horses and riders hot and sweating. Treville had been caught up in four days of meetings in London, and this was his idea of paradise.

Botswana was flat, but here, on a slight rise, they could see for miles.

The wilderness of the savannah stretched before them like a golden carpet and to the west the wide Okavango River wound its way across the land through the greenery of the expansive lagoons, where the mopane tree gave shade and height in an otherwise flat land. White clouds in a cobalt blue sky sent shadows skating across the plains, where herds could be picked out; though animals could not be identified at this distance. It was a patchwork quilt of muted colours, where life and death was played out every day.

"This is a dream come true," Treville said quietly.

"For us too," Athos replied and they all hummed in agreement.

They turned their horses in formation and headed back to the Garrison at a steadier pace.

They did not see the unmarked army surplus truck that had appeared in the distance, nor the men inside who were watching them.

oOo

Two days later, they found a dead buffalo.

d'Artagnan and Porthos had come across it on their early morning tour. d'Artagnan crouched beside the animal, with one hand resting on one of its massive horns.

"It's not a clean shot," he said softly, looking up at Porthos, frowning.

"Bastards," Porthos hissed. "Whoever did this is either testing their skills in big game hunting or ..."

"What?" d'Artagnan said, looking up at him.

"Sending us a message," Porthos finished.

"Yeah," d'Artagnan agreed, "If it was a hunt, there would be more carcasses."

"And poachers 'ave no use for buffaloes," Porthos sighed.

Something was threatening their hard won idyll.

This was the second animal to have been killed in the last five months, although as Porthos had muted, the elephant had obviously been killed for its tusks. This one was a mystery.

Sadly, there was nothing they could do for the animal, and they made their way back to their truck. This may be a random attack but it was time to think about putting their endangered species under closer surveillance. In particular, one young white female rhino, two years old.

oOo

Later that week, they discovered that not only was Aramis a good shot, but he was a good fighter.

He, Athos and Porthos had gone into Maun to a quiet bar they used, to prematurely celebrate Porthos's birthday. His actual day was two days hence, and d'Artagnan had promised to be there. At the moment, he was busy in his lab, saying he would join them later if he could.

They were minding their own business, although Porthos was his usual loud self, when four large white men pushed their way noisily into the bar. They were all dressed the same; in black tee shirts and combat trousers. They looked Eastern European and before long, they had started throwing their weight around and intimidating the patrons.

Ignoring it at first, Aramis sought to keep Porthos's attention as he could feel that his friend was getting tenser by the minute.

Athos threw Aramis a look in acknowledgement.

As he did so, he spotted a familiar face in the corner. It was Rach, Nkosi's youngest brother. He was sporting a swollen, black eye and was lost in himself, looking at no-one. Athos was about to go over and speak to him, but just then Porthos suddenly stood; having had enough. The movement pushed the table forward so that it scraped loudly across the floor.

At the noise, the four strangers turned toward them.

It was quite obvious what language they were using as they stared across, obviously discussing the dark-skinned man who now stood with his head tilted back eyeing them; facing them down.

Porthos was out of patience; watching as the barman disappeared as the last of his customers fled through the door.

"Oi, you ain't in Moscow now, Comrade; show some respect," Porthos shouted, drawing himself up to his own intimidating height, and hooking his thumbs in his belt.

One of the four thugs then gave Porthos a gesture that was sure to provoke a decisive response.

Athos picked up his glass, resigned, and looked at Aramis, who shrugged.

"Watch your hands," Athos murmured, "We may have need of them in the very near future."

"Always," Aramis said smiling a predatory smile that Athos had not seen before, but quite approved of in the circumstances.

Aramis reached his hand up and placed it on Porthos's forearm.

"Easy, my friend," he said, carefully.

"Bullsh*t ," Porthos replied in low deadly voice, before shaking him off and launching himself toward the men with a roar.

"I merely meant, let's take our time and enjoy this," Aramis shouted after him as he piled in after him.

"This will be a tale to tell d'Artagnan when we return," Athos muttered. Their young friend was still as curious as ever.

Athos downed his drink in one go and followed them into action.

 **To be continued ...**


	14. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

Fortunately there was little furniture to break in the bar itself and what there was, was sturdy. Aramis did, indeed, look after his hands; preferring to use whatever was nearest to attack his opponents.

At one point, Athos ducked as an arm came swinging toward him. He drove his fist into the Russian's gut, sending him to the floor. Porthos reached over and grabbed Athos's collar and pulled him aside, just as a bottle was being swung at his head. The bottle missed its mark, and sent its bearer into a fall driven by momentum and Athos smiled and nodded at Porthos for his assistance.

Porthos dusted his hands and turned back to the affray.

The other two surged forward, but were hampered by one of the locals who put his leg forward swiftly, sending one of them sprawling. He lumbered cursing to his feet as the local quickly made himself scarce. Both now headed toward Porthos, who saw them coming and encouraged them by waving them forward and grinning maniacally.

Athos looked at Aramis, picked up a nearby bottle and held it up with a raised eyebrow. Aramis smiled and reached over, picking up his own bottle and they moved in behind the two thugs. Porthos reached out and grabbed the two Russians each by the front of their shirts, as the two bottles smashed onto the back of their heads. As the two slumped to the ground, Porthos exchanged a triumphal look with Athos and Aramis.

While their comrades were down, the other two men had circled in behind Aramis and Athos, one with a rope which he was winding around his fists. Porthos had bent down to drag the two on the ground aside, and as he stood, he saw a rope being thrown over Aramis's head to snake around his throat. Before it could tighten, Porthos had launched a kick at the man's thigh and the resultant loss of feeling had the man crashing unceremoniously to his knees with a cry, as Athos jumped out of his way.

Athos unwound the rope looped around Aramis's neck and tossed it aside, just as the two on the floor were pulling themselves up and fists started flying again. Aramis picked up a nearby chair to ward off the man Porthos had kicked, who was now up and limping toward them, spewing Russian obscenities. Aramis settled for throwing the chair at his shins, and the man went down again, much to Aramis's delight.

Eventually, the fight spilled out into the street, where most of the locals had gathered to watch.

Fists continued to fly. Then the fight got dirty, as the Russians changed tactics. Porthos, however, had grown up using a similar style, and soon had one of the men sprawled on the ground, his foot on his throat. The man grabbed his boot with both hands, but could not dislodge him and Porthos started to enjoy himself. After a few moments of watching the man struggle, he removed his foot and waited until the man started to rise before leaning down and driving his fist into the man's jaw.

Athos watched as Aramis grabbed a metal pot from a pile stacked beside the bar entrance and smashed it into the head of one of the others, who staggered sideways. That left Athos facing the two remaining thugs, one of who shoved him to the ground, before taking a cosh from his belt. But Porthos and Aramis were now free and they turned in unison to those two. The fight continued.

Each man was now becoming tired, but no less determined. Porthos felt something crash across his back, but it was only a crate, which broke up easily. Porthos shook himself and turned around and growled at the man swaying in front of him, who still has his boot print on his throat.

Suddenly, two headlights lit up at the top of the street. A truck was idling. Then, the headlights flashed three times.

Two Russians picked themselves up and staggered off toward the truck. The remaining two backed away and followed them.

Athos peered at the windscreen, but the driver was in shadow. The men climbed onto the bed of the truck and the driver gunned the accelerator and executed a turn in the street and slowly drove away from them, out of town.

A little way along, a hand came out from the driver's side and gave a languid wave.

"Sarcastic sod," Porthos growled, pulling Athos to his feet.

They dusted themselves off and watched the retreating vehicle.

Athos went back inside to find Rach, but the boy was gone.

Going back outside, still breathing hard, he looked up the now deserted street and then back at his two dishevelled friends.

"That, gentlemen," he said, "was a set-up."

oOo

Later that week, they found a young buffalo, a bullet in his flank. Placid enough through dehydration and shock, it was easily anaesthetised and later brought back to the Garrison. d'Artagnan extracted the bullet, more in muscle than bone, and lodged him in a pen in the animal house to recover, which he anticipated would take some weeks. He would move the animal into the attached enclosure when it was less dependent. The fun would start when they had to reload it and transport it back where they found it.

But this was a very worrying development. One dead buffalo, and one injured in the space of a week.

They had to find this Rochefort and discover what was going on and who was behind this; but he seemed to have disappeared.

oOo

A few days later:

Athos waited as Nkosi changed from her jeans and top into her skirt and blouse. They were nearing her village but she was not quite ready to enter.

"I think he is on to you," Athos smiled.

"I know," she grinned at him as she wound her hair in the white and green head scarf, carefully tying a flamboyant knot at the side. Folding her western clothes, she stowed them in her saddle bag and turned to him, holding her hands out and whirling around for his approval.

He gave her a small, elegant bow and an approving smile which made her giggle.

"It is a game we play," she laughed.

"Well, it is very respectful, and I applaud you for it," Athos said, taking her hand and raising it to his lips, all the time holding her gaze. He leant over and laced his fingers together for her to mount. She placed her foot in his joined hands for a boost, and he flipped her up.

"You've forgotten your sandals," he laughed.

Looking down, she saw she had replaced her boots instead of slipping on her flat beaded sandals. They looked incongruous beneath her skirt.

"I think my father will accept a little concession," she murmured, shaking her head.

They tied their horses in the shade when they reached the village, and Athos went to pay his respects to Nyack. The old man appeared pleased to see him and pushed his battered chess board across, raising his eyebrow.

They had played the more traditional African board game _Mancala,_ which was one of the oldest games in the world _;_ a "count and capture" game using seeds and stones on a carved board, until Athos had introduced him to chess; bringing him his own board and set of chess pieces he had picked up some years ago.

Now, Athos played on-line, often within the Garrison. Booting up his computer, his first job was to assess Aramis's latest move and make his own counter-move; or stay his hand while he considered his next move. It only took a few moments whilst he got ready for work but it was one of the highlights of their day, as they were both competitive. Sometimes a move was not made for several days and they would steal looks at each other throughout the day in silent challenge to move the game along. But the one in front was usually relishing control, and that only added to the tension.

Nyack took to chess extremely well, his mind agile and his tenacity intact. Soon, his Mancala scoreboard, roughly written on the wall of his home, took second place to their chess scoreboard.

Nyack would sit with his head propped in his hand, running his long fingers through his short stubbly greying hair. His face would light up when he spotted his move and he cackled like an old woman as he triumphantly made his move. He had very expressive eyes, the whites now tinged with yellow, but it was his smile that lit up his face and Athos was reminded of Porthos and how his smile put everything into perspective; no matter the circumstances. Porthos was as free with his smiles as he was with his heart, and Athos counted himself lucky to call him friend, and brother.

Nyack had carved a new set of chess pieces, which represented his people, and he had presented it to Athos soon after he won their first game.

Now, as they sat quietly together, they were finishing a game started several weeks ago and Nyack had just cried:

" _Check-mate, Athos!"_

Athos had sighed, but shook the old man's hand.

Just then Nkosi reappeared with her brother, Tabansi, who had come to speak to his father.

After greeting Athos, he told Nyack that he had spoken to one of the outlying villagers who had told him that European men had been seen in the area the day before near a part of the lagoon where the rhino herds usually gathered. Some of the others had spoken to one of these men.

"What do you know of them?" Athos asked, suddenly uneasy.

"They are Russians," Tabansi answered, bluntly. "They want our land, I believe. And also, to kill our animals," he added darkly.

Athos was on his feet.

"Stay here," he told Nkosi.

When she looked about to protest, unused to his tone, he took her arm and looked into her eyes.

" _Please,"_ he said, quietly but firmly.

She looked at his hand on her arm, seeing the bruised knuckles from the bar fight, and realised she could not stop him now. He needed to check on the rhino herd. Thamani was at risk, and he needed to assure himself she was safe.

Outside, Athos spoke to Tabansi for a few moments.

Nkosi emerged from her father's house, watching as Athos shook his head at her brother; before mounting his horse.

He gave her a brief smile as she emerged into the late sun, shading her eyes against its brightness.

"I will not be long," he said, as he looked down at her, before swinging the animal around and riding out.

She stood watching until he was out of sight.

 **To be continued ...**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:** Once again, many thanks for your reviews and messages.

This chapter is dedicated to Helensg and Mountain Cat, for knowing from the start, and for being so patient.

 **CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

Athos brought his horse to a stop in view of a small waterfall, which flowed from a dip in the river into the lagoon favoured at this time of year by a wide range of animals. It was the middle of the afternoon now; the sun was high in the sky and it was hot.

He dismounted and, ever vigilant, he walked the horse over to the edge of the water and allowed Roger to drink. Unhooking his water bottle, he took a long drink himself. Across the wide expanse of water, there was a herd of several elephants enjoying a cool break, teaching their two young calves how to wash in the shallows. There were also several zebra and antelopes; but no rhino. However, nothing seemed untoward; the animals were relaxed and he felt himself relax for the first time since he had left Nkosi.

He was relieved until he noticed some partially obscured tracks leading from the water's edge up a slope behind him. He had been here before, there was nothing remarkable about it, but he had never seen tracks before. He always had this place to himself. He had discovered it several months ago when he had walked up the slope and found that there was an opening at the top of the gradient that dropped down into a small cave. The cave itself could not be seen from the water's edge. Once inside and facing outward, there was a clear view as far as the eye could see. He often stopped here to sit in the shade and watch, unseen.

He replaced his water bottle and tied Roger's reins loosely to a low branch, aware he could not leave him for long, as he was vulnerable.

The tracks from the waterhole led up the slope to the hidden cave. As his eyes followed the tracks, he saw a flash of light. That wasn't right.

Walking up, his trainers slipped a few times but as he came to the small outcrop of rocks he saw they were covered with an expanse of dried brush, which had not there the last time he was here. It looked as if it had been deliberately put there. He pushed his way through the brush, which came away freely.

Moving it aside, he exposed the small cave behind, nothing more than ten feet wide, with a depth of a little more. There were some crates in there and the cause of the flash was the free standing mirror standing on one of the crates, occasionally catching the sunlight and reflecting it out. It was usually laid down; but now for some reason it was upright.

There were also a few animal bones scattered at the back of the cave, which he thought to investigate.

He stepped forward to jump the foot or so down into the cave, when he felt a searing pain in his ankle. As he twisted his body, he lost his footing and crashed down into the cave, landing on his back. His head struck the dirt floor with the momentum but he did not feel it, as the pain in his ankle had intensified to a degree where everything was suddenly going grey.

Raising his head with great difficulty, he stared at his left foot, which was caught in a vicious looking snare. He scrambled back in shock, only for the wire to tighten, causing him to roar in pain and collapse onto his back. The pain in his head kicked in then and he managed to raise his hand and felt his skull; the warm blood seeped through his fingers and he hissed at the sharp sting, pulling his hand quickly away.

He turned onto his right side in an attempt to raise himself, but the action made the cave tilt sickeningly and pain flashed white hot from his foot to his thigh. He involuntarily bit into his lower lip, tasting blood, and then everything slipped away from him into darkness.

oOo

He did not know how long he had lain there but coming to, he tried calling for Roger. The horse was too far away though, and his voice was hoarse. He wondered briefly what he thought he expected of the animal. He felt around his belt, but he did not have his radio. He had probably lost it when he fell. His hand scrambled on the dusty floor of the cave, but each movement brought agony shooting up his leg, and the strangled cry that escaped him shocked him. His stomach was rolling, and he could feel cold sweat breaking out on his face. His jaw ached from clenching his teeth. He could feel warm blood pooling under his foot and taste blood in his mouth from his cut lip. It was overwhelming, and his mind started to shut down in shock.

Sometime later, he opened his eyes and stared at the wall in front of him. The shadows had moved, indicating he had been there some hours now. His limbs were trembling, and he tried desperately to keep his leg still now, knowing the consequence of movement. The nausea was worse, and he could definitely feel the pain in his head now. He reached his hand back into the hair at the back of his head and his fingers came away still sticky with blood. He tried to control his breathing, but had to press the heels of his hands to his eyes when the tears leaked involuntarily down his face. He allowed himself a loud groan to try and dissipate the adrenaline that began coursing through his veins whenever he even thought about moving.

He was soaking wet now. The cave was warm and perspiration was pooling beneath him; his shirt clinging to him. He had no water. He prayed for the sun to drop and the night to fall, so that it would be cooler.

He hoped Roger would eventually pull free from his loosely tied bonds and return to the Garrison. Perhaps he could hang on until they came, but they would have to find him and that would be difficult, he thought, realising that no-one knew of this cave. That had been his decision when he had found it.

And anyway, it was a perilous journey for a horse, and he cursed his stupidity.

oOo

Later:

The darkness came eventually, dropping like a heavy curtain and leaving him colder, but instead of bringing comfort, he now felt more vulnerable than ever. The black maw of the cave entrance stretched out, masking all that lay beyond.

He wondered how his foot could be numb, but still so painful. His ankle was obviously swelling around the wire. White flashes shot up his leg if he took too deep a breath. His sweat made him shiver now. He remained on his side, curled in as much as he could to keep warm. He ran his fingers through his hair and pulled at the roots ferociously in an attempt to take the focus away from his pain. It did not work.

The nausea returned.

Suddenly, he caught his breath as he heard a low growl followed by scratching somewhere outside the cave.

oOo

In the darkness, hardly daring to breathe, his hearing became acute.

The scratching continued.

The animal was persistent; an ungodly noise thrumming in its throat.

At one point, he had seen its bright eyes out there in the darkness, peering down into the cave. It knew he was there. Athos was drifting in and out of consciousness but he was aware of its presence every time he looked. He could hear it scrabbling on the rocks outside the entrance. It was getting closer and closer as it gained in confidence.

At one point, while he still could, he had removed the trainer from his untethered foot and had it held tightly in his shaking hand. The action had made him roar in pain, and for a while, whatever was outside was quiet. The shoe would be ineffective in putting off a determined carnivore, but it was the best he could do.

He must have faded out then, only to be awoken suddenly when he opened his eyes to a muzzle above him and felt the animal's fowl breath on his face. He reached out for anything to hand to use as a weapon, his fingers scrabbling for a rock nearby.

He felt the teeth graze his arm and suddenly realised it was about to try and drag him out of the cave. Remembering the shoe, he brought it crashing down into its snout. Its jaws clamped down on his forearm momentarily, causing further agony but it let go and scuttled out of the cave. Later, as it appeared at the entrance once more, all he could do was throw the shoe at it before falling back in agony.

oOo

Earlier, a lone figure had released the horse from its tether, slapping its flank and sending it on its way. The figure then crept away; later climbing into the tree house on the edge of the lagoon. Sitting on the floor, drawing up knees and wrapping arms tightly around legs.

Needing to think.

oOo

 **The Garrison**

"Whatever was he thinkin'?!" Porthos bellowed when Nkosi rode back to the Garrison and reported that, following Tabansi's warning, Athos has ridden to check the area where the herds gathered and was late in returning.

She had waited until darkness was falling, becoming more and more frightened. She had thought about following him, but his voice in her head told her to ride and tell his brothers. She did not know where he had gone, but they would know; they had been monitoring the rhino herd and knew their habits.

Now, Porthos grabbed her as she tried to catch her breath after her ride from her village.

Not long after she arrived, Athos's horse returned alone, at full gallop.

Rearing up in the compound, it struck its front foot into the ground. Its eyes were wild and its muzzle was flecked with foam sprayed from its nostrils and mouth.

Aramis and Porthos both ran down the porch toward Roger.

"He was not unarmed, Porthos," Aramis shouted, reaching up to catch the reins of the very skittish horse.

But Athos's rifle is still in its holster in the saddle.

"He is now," Porthos said.

 **To be continued ...**


	16. Chapter 16

A bit of a longer chapter today **...**

oOo

 **CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

As d'Artagnan took Athos's horse to the stables to calm him, Aramis hurried to the infirmary to pack a bag of items he considered he would need. He then collected a refrigerated box from his lab with other items pulled from one of the large refrigerators in the pharmacy. He had no idea what they would find _when_ they found Athos - he could not contemplate the word " _if_ ," - but he wanted to be prepared for any eventuality.

Not waiting for first light, Porthos and Aramis prepared to set out in the truck to find their brother.

Musket, Athos's deaf dog, had jumped onto the bed of the truck before anyone could stop him and had been waiting patiently for the two men. Porthos looked at the dog and one brown and one blue eye peered intently back at him.

"'e's taught 'im the stare as well," Porthos said, locking eyes with the determined dog.

"Yeah, I know," he grunted; giving in with a sigh.

"Just 'old on tight then," he added, leaving the dog where he was. He threw a bedroll into the back and went around to the front of the truck and climbed into the driving seat next to Aramis.

Athos had been gone several hours ago now, since mid afternoon, and night had descended during that time. They had powerful searchlights in the back of the truck that they used when they needed to search for animals or to make any immediate repairs in the dark. Aramis sat with one on his lap as they drove, ready to capture anything suspicious.

Aramis played the light across the plain and they had stopped every time they thought they saw something but each time, they were disappointed by the sight of either a sleeping animal or a shadow.

Around 4.00 am, the sky was much lighter and Porthos stopped near the waterhole, where he knew the rhino often congregated. He opened the door and scanned the area with his binoculars. The only sound was the waterfall, cascading over rocks a short distance away.

Suddenly, Musket leapt down from the truck and ran off.

"Musket!" Porthos shouted in panic, before remembering the dog could not hear him. He did not want to lose Athos's beloved dog; his brother had spent many hours training the dog to understand his signs and they had an unbreakable bond. Sometimes, he thought Athos preferred his dog to people.

"Porthos!" Aramis shouted, grabbing his bag and climbing from the cab of the truck, "Follow him!"

They both set off after the running dog; its white coat visible in the brightening dawn light.

Musket was heading up an incline towards some rocks, partially obscured by brush.

He disappeared for a few minutes, before suddenly reappearing. He stood his ground and looked at them, before putting his head back and then he howled. Satisfied they were coming, the dog sniffed the air and took off over the top of the incline and disappeared.

Porthos continued up the incline, having seen something ahead.

There was a trainer lying on the ground, a few feet in front of the brush. Porthos picked it up and turned it over in his hands before holding it out to Aramis.

"This belongs to Athos, he was wearing his trainers yesterday."

The brush they had been heading towards had now been fully pushed aside by Musket and he saw there was what looked like an opening behind it. They both approached it carefully, and drawing their handguns, they peered inside what they saw was a small cave.

oOo

In the dim light, Athos was laid partially on his side; the arm he was laying on was tucked beneath him. It looked like he had crashed through the brush that had been covering the entrance, which had now been swept aside.

They both reholstered their weapons and jumped down into the cave.

Aramis dropped down to Athos's feet, momentarily frozen at the sight of the pool of blood beneath his left foot. Porthos had moved further into the cave.

"Ath...?" Porthos whispered, on his knees; running his hand through Athos's hair.

Athos groaned and then started sharply awake; his wide eyes moving to the entrance of the cave.

" _Dog_ ..." he whispered, gripping Porthos's tee shirt.

Porthos wrapped his hand around Athos's fingers.

"It's alright, it's Musket – he found you," Porthos said, holding Athos's hand.

It was not what Athos meant, but he did not have the strength to explain, he was overwhelmed by the pain now.

"Porthos..." Aramis whispered, and Porthos looked down and caught his breath.

Athos's foot was caught in a vicious looking snare, held taught around his ankle.

Aramis traced the wire to the tethering bolt sunk deeply and firmly into the dry ground at the entrance of the cave. It was a thick length of wire attached to a loop with a slip knot. Any tension on the wire made the knot slide along the wire, pulling the loop tight. It seemed that Athos had stepped into the loop and the fall he had taken into the cave had engaged the slip knot and done just that.

Aramis took hold of the wire and tried to loosen it. After a few moments, realisation kicked in.

"I can't get this off ..." he whispered; his voice sounded strangled as it trailed off.

Porthos was on his feet and running from the cave, back to their truck. He threw the door open and reaching under the seat, his hand curling around the rough wooden handle of a wicked looking machete. He grabbed a bottle of water from the door pocket and was off back up the incline.

There was no room for him next to Aramis, so he handed the machete to his friend and then scooted up to Athos's head, his hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

"Can you turn him over?" Aramis asked him.

Porthos shifted and knelt behind Athos's head and put both hands under his shoulders, intending to pull him up into a semi raised position, using his knees to rest his friend's shoulders on

However, feeling hands on him and in his dazed condition, Athos cried out and began to struggle; raising his arms over his head to grab hold of Porthos's upper arms. But he had no grip and his arms flailed loosely out to the side as Porthos lifted him up.

"Try and hold him still, Porthos."

Porthos tightened his grip and Athos gave up.

"We're gonna get this thing off you, Ath," Porthos said.

Then, Athos felt a sharp needle enter the back of his hand.

"Wasn't too bad," Athos muttered, which drew a short laugh from Porthos.

"Just morphine," Aramis said quietly.

"About time," Athos replied tightly.

"One thing at a time, mon ami."

Athos grew a little restless as they waited a few minutes for the drug to kick in.

"Talk to him," Aramis said, while he took the opportunity to go outside and call d'Artagnan at the Garrison.

Steadying himself, he asked him to go into his computer in the infirmary and search for Athos's medical records. Aramis kept a comprehensive data base following his medicals on all members of staff and had individual passwords for each individual record. Giving d'Artagnan the password into Athos's records, he asked him to check his blood group and then phone Gaborone Hospital and request the flying doctor. He needed an anaesthetist, he said, and a nurse if possible. He then asked him to request three units of Athos's blood group. They had found him, Aramis had said, and were bringing him back, but he could not manage the surgery on his own, he would need assistance.

He asked d'Artagnan to request a helicopter to drop off the medical staff in front of the Garrison lake, which would save time in collecting them from the air strip. They were leaving soon, he said, and hopefully, they should all arrive at the Garrison at roughly the same time.

To his credit, despite the ominous request, d'Artagnan did not ask any questions; merely listening and confirming he would do that straight away.

When Aramis finished the call, he took a deep breath and turned back into the cave. Inside, Porthos was talking quietly to Athos.

"You're in trouble with Nkosi, by the way," Porthos was saying; obviously aiming for distraction.

"Am I?" Athos asked weakly. His forehead creased upward, as he tried to focus on the strange image of Porthos, now floating above him. Porthos couldn't bear that look. It made his eyes seem even larger and his face more vulnerable.

 _Fearsome and fearless ..._ That was how he liked to think of his brother.

"Yeah," Porthos sniffed, "You left the lady behind."

That brought a faint smile to Athos's lips.

"Never again," he whispered, and he felt Porthos's quiet chuckle against his back.

Aramis picked up the machete and looked up at Porthos then and nodded. He was ready.

"Ath ...We can't get this wire off your ankle. We're gonna cut it where it's fastened to the ground. You get yerself together, and we'll tell you when.

Porthos's arms folded tightly around him once more. Athos opened bleary eyes and looked up at him from his place on the ground, still propped on Porthos's knees. Porthos leant over so Athos's view of the cave ceiling was obliterated by his upside down face. He smiled when Athos gave him the briefest of nods.

"Soon be out of 'ere," Porthos murmured, and Athos felt the big man brace himself, as his arms tightened around him.

Aramis paused before looking at Porthos, who nodded back.

Without a word of warning, Aramis brought the machete swiftly down in one swift movement, and the wire was cut.

The action reverberated up into Athos's leg and his agonised cry rang around the small space.

Porthos tightened his hold again as Athos bucked, tears streaming down both their faces now as Porthos shushed him; his arm snaking around his chest and holding on until Athos finally went limp and was quiet.

In the silence that followed, Porthos let out a shaky breath and looked up, meeting Aramis's eyes once more.

"What do we do now?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

Aramis's hands were bloody from trying to loosen the wire that had bitten deep into Athos's ankle and foot. There was no removing it.

"Aramis! Your hands ..." Porthos said, and Aramis looked down, appearing to see them for the first time.

"There is no way," Aramis whispered. "This will have to be removed in sterile conditions. We'll have to take him like this."

Then, Porthos caught sight of Athos's torn sleeve, which had rolled back as he had struggled.

"Hey... look at this," Porthos said, taking hold of Athos's arm and lifting it up. They had been so focussed on the snare injury they had not looked at the arm that had been tucked under him when they entered.

Aramis leant forward and pushed up the sleeve.

"These are bite marks," he muttered, frowning.

Just then, they jumped as Musket returned, a cut across his muzzle and his paw. He seemed unconcerned though, merely lying down with his head between his paws, watching them intently.

Aramis looked around. There were a few animal bones at the back of the cave.

"Whatever it was that bit him," Aramis said. "It has used this place before."

"That's why his shoe was outside – he's been trying to divert it away."

Aramis checked his arm again.

"A couple of these bites are quite deep; he's in big trouble if we can't treat him quickly."

Aramis took Athos's face in his hands and tried calling his name. But Athos did not hear him. He had finally let go of the fierce control that had seen him through to this point.

Aramis looked over at Porthos.

"We need to get him back quickly. I can't give him any more morphine. I've just given him enough to take the edge off. I need to know the extent of his injuries; I can't compromise his treatment by giving him too much."

"Just don't leave 'im in pain," Porthos muttered, stroking Athos's hair. Shifting him, he looked down and saw that his shirt was bloody where Athos's head had been resting. There was nothing he could do at the moment though; there was enough to do before they could all get out of the cave.

Aramis had taken off the shirt he wore over his tee shirt and was wrapping it carefully but quickly around Athos's bloody ankle, glad that he was unconscious for this part. He got up and ran out of the cave without another word. Diving into the truck, he checked out his refrigerated kit and breathed a sigh of relief. It contained what he needed. He also picked up a clean towel from the small supply they kept in the cab to dry hands slippery with perspiration under the hot sun. He then climbed back into the cab and drove the truck up the incline as close to the cave entrance as he could. They would need to load Athos into the back with the minimum of movement.

Back inside the cave, he tossed the towel to Porthos.

"Put that under his head, he's making a mess," he said gently, and Porthos did as he was asked.

From his place by the entrance, Musket watched intently but did not make a sound.

Aramis then opened his kit and took out a phial and broke out a new syringe, which he filled with the amount he gauged correlated with Athos's weight. He then tossed a bottle of yellow liquid and a gauze pad to Porthos and asked him to clean up the arm as thoroughly as he could.

The pungent but not unpleasant aroma filled the small space as Porthos worked quickly. Musket sneezed several times and shook his head, but still remained in his place.

Leaving his foot, Aramis moved around to Athos's arm. Bending over, he began to inject the solution into the two bites, and then into the skin around the other smaller bites. He then moved across and jabbed the remainder into Athos's left thigh, exposed when Aramis had cut up the length of his trouser leg to get at the snare.

"What's that?" Porthos asked, as he watched Aramis working with quiet determination.

"It's haemoglobin," Aramis replied. "It's the treatment of choice. Imperative it's done as soon as possible."

"For what?" Porthos asked, as he continued to hold onto Athos and watch Aramis.

When Aramis did not answer, Porthos reached out to grab his arm.

"Aramis, what for!" Porthos cried.

Aramis finished his task and then sat back on his heels and locked eyes with Porthos.

"Rabies."

oOo

 **To be continued ...**


	17. Chapter 17

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

In the sudden quiet of the cave, Porthos stared at him, eyes wide in shock.

He felt as if all the air had been punched from his lungs, but he blindly followed Aramis's firm instructions and held on as the medic wound a thick bandage around Athos's arm. Aramis could hear Porthos's hitched breathing and attempted to distract him.

"Do you think he set this up?" Aramis asked; head down as he fastened the bandage in place.

"What do ya mean?" Porthos said, confused.

"Did it on purpose?" Aramis said, as he continued working.

"What?" Porthos repeated.

"To draw them out?" Aramis continued, before glancing up at Porthos;

"You said he cared little for his self preservation when you met him."

Porthos stared at him in disbelief.

"He ain't got a death wish!" he suddenly exploded, finally taking in what Aramis meant.

Aramis continued to look calmly at him.

"The river?" he said, quietly.

Porthos stared back at him, uncomprehending.

Then, he remembered Athos barrelling past him into the water. Saw it all once more playing out.

"That kid was drowning ...!" Porthos growled. He started to shake his head."I ain't 'aving this conversation," he muttered.

After a few minutes though, he sighed.

"Athos wouldn't lay a snare; they're a terrible thing."

"Not the snare, mon ami," Aramis replied, shaking his head. "That," he nodded to the corner of the cave.

There were two small crates, one stacked on top of the other, with a mirror on the top one. Held the right way into the sun, the mirror would flash for far enough across the savannah in front of the cave.

"A lure, perhaps; to catch a poacher." Aramis said quietly.

It was not a question.

oOo

Athos came to as Aramis was packing his bag and they were getting ready to pull him from his prison.

"Where is he?!" he murmured, becoming agitated.

"Who?" Porthos asked, grabbing a flailing arm.

Athos turned half-wild unfocussed eyes on him that made Porthos shudder.

"Get back," Athos answered. "Get out of here!"

Porthos let go and leaned back, hurt.

Athos reached up and caught his sleeve.

" _Dog_..." he whispered, looking past Porthos and toward the cave entrance.

Porthos frowned and looked at Aramis, who shrugged and shook his head, concentrating on ensuring his foot was securely wrapped.

 _Too tight. The wire is too tight._

Porthos leant over Athos, gently catching his chin and moving his face toward him to catch his eyes.

"Athos – do you mean Musket?" he said, as Athos stared up at him. "He's safe. He found you."

Athos shook his head and moaned.

" _Where is he_?" Athos said weakly.

"Who?" Porthos asked him gently.

"Someone was here," Athos replied, looking back at the entrance of the cave. "Someone was standing there."

oOo

Back at the Garrison, Nkosi sat very still with d'Artagnan on the verandah, their eyes on the horizon; waiting for the telltale dust clouds to show the return of their friends. He reached out and took her hand in his; keeping his eyes on the horizon.

"It will be alright," he said; though he hoped he sounded more convincing than he felt at that moment. Since Aramis's phone call he had felt icy fingers playing on his spine, despite the early morning heat and Nkosi's warm hand wrapped tightly in his.

oOo

Earlier, in London, just after Aramis and Porthos had taken off to find Athos, Treville had taken a pre-dawn call from one of his contacts in the Met.

It seemed that Rochefort was moving into the big league. He had been seen with a member of a notorious Russian criminal gang; one Yaroslav Krupin. "A real nasty piece of work," his contact had said, "Despite his claims of legitimacy over the last few years."

"He calls his men the Red Guard." The man had said. "Be careful, Jean. Krupin usually gets what he wants, one way or another," the man had added.

Treville had immediately called the Garrison to speak to Athos, but was surprised when it was d'Artagnan who took the call. He updated Treville on what was now unfolding at Heshima.

In turn, and with growing trepidation, Treville relayed the message about Rochefort and his involvement with Krupin. Rochefort must have had Krupin's backing since the auction, he said.

Shocked by what d'Artagnan had told him, Treville said he would get the first flight back that he could; telling him what his contact had told him; _to be careful_. Before he ended the call, he asked d'Artagnan to tell Nkosi not to take any more visitors for the time being. Then they hung up, and Treville started packing.

d'Artagnan had brooded on Treville's call. What had been happening recently on Heshima was confusing, but it felt like a piece of the puzzle had just dropped heavily into place. Just then, there was movement in the distance and d'Artagnan saw the Garrison truck returning; all thoughts of Rochefort and Krupin would have to wait.

Perhaps, though, that request to be careful had come too late.

oOo

It seemed to take forever as they watched the truck approaching. Then it was slewing through the Garrison gates and coming to a stop outside the infirmary.

Musket was the first off, jumping down and laying quietly in the shade, beneath the overhang of the truck; watching from behind one of the rear wheels.

Porthos climbed off the bed of the truck where he had been holding a very still Athos and dropped the tailgate down. d'Artagnan had a stretcher waiting for them and they got Athos quickly onto it. Once inside, Aramis removed the temporary bandages.

There was a commotion then, as the helicopter arrived; its fearsome blades whipping up dust in front of the compound as the Gaborone doctor and his nurse arrived. Nkosi ran across and took his bag and ushered them both inside the medical block.

Aramis and the doctor quickly got into scrubs and the nurse began to sterilise their instruments.

While they were doing that, d'Artagnan took quick efficient measurements of the bite marks on Athos's forearm and disappeared back to his lab.

Standing beside the stretcher, Porthos never let go of Athos's hand.

Within minutes of arriving, Athos was prepped and swept inside the theatre. Porthos and Nkosi watched as the doors swung shut behind him, and he was gone.

Inside, Athos opened his eyes to see Aramis looking down as him, his face partly obscured by a surgical mask.

" _Aramis_..."

"Here, mon ami," Aramis replied.

"Don't take my foot," he managed; " _Please don't take my foot."_

Aramis leant closer but could not touch him, as he had already scrubbed up.

"I will do everything I can, my friend," he said, but he did not know if Athos heard before the anaesthetic quickly took him down.

oOo

d'Artagnan did not join the others in the wait, he had headed straight back to his lab.

It was a long wait.

"How long does it take to cut through a snare?" Porthos snarled, pacing the length of the living area, kicking anything that was in his way.

"It's not just his ankle though, is it," Nkosi said. "I think Aramis is more worried about the bites."

Porthos made Nkosi a cup of sweet tea before walking over to d'Artagnan's lab to see what he was doing. d'Artagnan was peering at his computer screen when Porthos barged in, making him jump.

"Come and see this," d'Artagnan said over his shoulder.

There on his computer screen was a three-dimensional image of an animal's head, displayed as a slowly rotating green mesh; the large ears, snout and canine teeth clearly delineated.

" _Dog_ ," Porthos breathed. " _That's_ what he meant."

"Hyena, perhaps," d'Artagnan mused.

He was excited and his words were tumbling out.

"They usually hunt at dawn or dusk," d'Artagnan was saying, "So that would fit."

"But they hunt in packs," Porthos replied. "We didn't see any signs of a pack."

"This one may have been a scout. Or an old one," d'Artagnan continued. "Perhaps a young one, just trying its luck? If it is a hyena, there will be a pack somewhere; although they could be long gone by now. But I think a hyena would have caused more damage with its bite."

"What then?" Porthos said.

"Something smaller - I think it's more likely to be a jackal. If it's a jackal, they tend to pair up, not run in packs and they are opportunistic suckers. Maybe Athos invaded its territory."

Porthos stared at the image on the screen, letting d'Artagnan's flood of words flow over him.

"Whatever it was, Athos was very lucky," d'Artagnan finished.

"You reckon?" Porthos growled.

"Yes, believe me, Porthos, I do," d'Artagnan replied, firmly.

"How'd you do that?" Porthos asked, still staring at the computer image.

"Fed the measurements between the bite marks and their circumference into my carnivore database, and it matched with this bad boy," d'Artagnan said quietly.

"I would have liked saliva samples, but Aramis cleaned the wound," he added, before looking cautiously up at Porthos.

"That didn't come out as it should have done; sorry," he muttered.

"How does this help Athos?" Porthos asked, ignoring his friend's discomfort.

"Technically, it doesn't, but if the animal that bit Athos is a rabies carrier, we'll have to track it down and kill however many we find."

"But until we know for sure, it's too soon to contemplate that at the moment," d'Artagnan continued. He did not elaborate, but Porthos got his meaning. It would depend on what happened to Athos.

"This could have huge consequences on all the animals on Heshima," the vet finished, sitting back with a sigh.

"This could ruin us. It's just one bloody thing after another," Porthos grunted, before clapping d'Artagnan on the shoulder and straightening.

"I'll be over in the Lodge, waitin' for news," he said.

"I'm coming," d'Artagnan said, closing his laptop and following Porthos out of the door. "I'll need to call Treville and let him know."

oOo

Aramis could not deal with Athos's injury in one go. The wire had bitten deep and he spent the first hour finally cutting the damn thing away, cleaning the wound and repairing as much of the damage as he could. Then he packed the wound with sterile dressings before bandaging the foot and ankle up to the knee. If he had sewn the wound, he may have sealed any infection in and Athos had been lying on a dirt floor for several hours, which made infection a distinct possibility. He then moved to his arm and did the same. By now the hand and fingers were red and swollen.

Both wounds would need inspecting thoroughly and redressing every day. The ankle would need all his skills in several days time, when he would finally close the wound for good.

His eyes strayed once more to the now bandaged arm and he thought about the incubation period they would all have to endure before this was over.

He thanked the doctor and nurse and they made arrangements for their return to the Garrison, once Aramis was ready to close the wound at some point in the coming week.

oOo

There were three private rooms in the infirmary, situated next to each other on a short corridor behind the operating theatre. All were empty. The previous week Aramis had been busy with a guest with a suspected kidney stone. He had not had to operate in the end though as nature eventually took its course and the guest recovered.

The room at the end of the corridor was the largest and had a window which overlooked the west side of the Garrison yard. It was this room that was allocated to Athos. All the doors along the corridor where half glazed so patients could be monitored, but all had blinds that could be dropped from the inside for privacy.

The rooms were accessed through the back of the operating theatre, so Athos was transferred there away from his friends view. Aramis set up a transfusion and a line to administer a strong cocktail of antibiotics, having already treated him with the first of four doses of anti-rabies vaccine.

Once Athos was settled with the addition of a temporary oxygen mask in place; Aramis went through to speak to his friends, who were anxiously waiting for news.

He allowed them a few minutes in his room, before shooing them out. They hung around in the corridor though, watching through the glass, before he dropped the blinds. It was for their own good, he told them. They were all exhausted and it would be a few hours before Athos woke up.

Eventually, they left, but only to take up refuge in the kitchen, where they continued to wait; fuelled by copious amounts of caffeine.

 **To be continued ...**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N:** Many thanks to everyone for leaving me reviews and messages.

The Garrison is not a happy place ...

oOo

 **CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

Athos always had a bad reaction to general anaesthesia; waking freezing cold, his teeth chattering and his ears ringing. Now, he lay on his back, covered in a silver thermal blanket. So, he thought, Aramis had discovered this and had taken appropriate action.

He had tried to raise his head to look at the damage, but with his best efforts, his body did not respond. He was aware of Aramis looking down at him before he drifted off to the sound of him moving around the room.

Later, he tried to touch his left foot with his right, but when he could not find it, only space where his foot should be, he panicked; emitting a sudden cry in a voice he did not recognise.

A hand landed on his shoulder, and a voice he _did_ recognise calmed him.

"S'alright, it's still there. It's just hoisted up a bit, to help your circulation."

Athos could have wept with relief.

He probably did, but he did not remember, as Aramis wanted him quiet and still and kept him sedated for the rest of that day and the next.

The following night, he became aware that he was talking nonsense. d'Artagnan had been chatting to him and he realised the answers he was giving were becoming more difficult for d'Artagnan to understand. Not only that, but he did not know where he was; insisting he was late for lectures and his students had exams in a few days.

d'Artagnan helped him to water and his mind cleared enough to recognise his colleague.

"Get Aramis," he managed to say and the young vet was up and moving through the door.

When Aramis pushed through the doors moments later, Athos turned glassy eyes to him and Aramis knew that infection had set in. Despite both wounds being thoroughly cleaned as soon as possible, bacteria had had several hours to take hold before they had even reached him.

Aramis had quickly got another line into him to continue the cocktail of antibiotics. Everything faded and the next few days were a haze of faces as the infection took him to a half world, where some familiar faces floated above him.

And some he hoped never to see again made their presence felt.

oOo

At some point, he found himself looking up at the ceiling light and realising he was back in the OR. His ankle and arm were once more thoroughly sluiced out and re-bandaged.

Whoever tended him thereafter had gentle hands.

He was not making it easy for them as he twisted and turned.

The bellow he heard was his own voice and it surprised him. He did not think he had the strength to make such a noise.

 _Anne and Thomas._

Thomas was both victim and villain in his hallucinations.

One minute the victim; pleading with Anne to drop the gun. Turning anguished eyes to Athos, who was standing in the doorway watching it unfold, unable it seemed to move a muscle. He had not been there of course, but he had fed his mind with so many different scenarios in the last few years, and the court case had added to his cache. Now, they all played out, vivid and realistic.

A raging Thomas; his hands around Anne's throat.

It was her turn to turn horror-struck eyes on her husband. Athos was just as immobile; just as unable to help.

He was a spectator in the event that had shattered him.

Later, he watched as a smiling Anne turned to face him; the light behind her lighting up her dark hair like a halo. He had always liked the way her hair fell around her shoulders like that. He reached out to touch it, letting the silky strands slip through his fingers.

Then she was gone and did not return; despite his entreaties.

The faces of his students came to him next, and his Principal; all disappointed in him.

There must be some good in his life; but where was it? Why did his mind show him such terrible scenes?

Why did his blood seem to boil in his veins?

Alone; a dark hunched figure was watching him, hidden in the shadows of his room.

Who was the shadow in black staring at him from across the room?

"Who are you? What do you want?" Athos asked.

The figure turned and left.

He knew the figure had a name, but he could not grasp it.

Later, it would be just a muddled memory to add to the others.

oOo

d'Artagnan found Porthos sometime later standing at the end of the corridor, looking at his feet.

Looking quickly toward the door at the end of the corridor, he grabbed Porthos's arm.

"What is it? What's happened?!" he asked, searching Porthos's face.

"Just needed a break," the big man muttered.

"Aramis?"

"Gone to his pharmacy to get him some drugs."

"Who's with him?"

"Treville," Porthos answered, looking toward the door. "He got in a couple of hours ago."

"He's better at this than me," Porthos added, miserably.

"You've known him a long time, Porthos," d'Artagnan said, trying to bolster the man.

"Yeah, I have," Porthos sniffed, not meeting his eyes. "But I've never met 'is demons before. Not 'til now."

d'Artagnan stared at him, before reaching out and putting his hand on Porthos's shoulder. Then, once he had eye contact, he gently pulled him forward and got him walking back up the corridor.

Even Treville had been shocked by the depth of emotion and force emanating from Athos's delirium. He was relieved when Porthos returned, fearing he would not be able to stop Athos hurting himself as he thrashed around. d'Artagnan was with him, moving quickly to the side of the bed to still the bandaged arm and hand, which was currently clawing at the sheet.

"This is NOT what you think it is, Porthos," d'Artagnan said firmly, looking at Porthos standing rigidly by the door. "It's too soon."

Also fearing the worst, Treville appeared to relax at that and concentrated on holding tight to Athos's other arm.

It seemed Anne was in full flow once more; now accusing Athos of murdering Thomas.

"It's like he's in the room with them ..." d'Artagnan said, holding tight as the current hallucination unfolded.

"Don't believe any of this," Treville ground out. "He's rambling; he wasn't even there."

"Those two deserved each other; and they deserved their fate for what they did to him," he added angrily.

Athos's eyes flew open and it seemed whatever held him in its grip was not finished.

They were all standing now, trying to keep him still, but he neither saw nor heard them.

"No!" he cried, his eyes swimming with tears. "No, no, no ..."

oOo

In the confines of his office, Aramis took a few moments to breathe. His medical journals were stacked up on his desk, and anyone searching the history on his computer would find that he had sought every relevant medical paper and piece of research on the transmission and treatment of rabies in the public domain. He had emailed several authorities on the subject but did not expect to learn anything other than what he had already read and knew.

This was a waiting game and he dreaded the conversations to come. At best, all he could offer until the incubation period expired was treatment of the bacteria currently flooding through his friend's veins. He had listened to his ramblings and was desperate to give him some peace; although he wondered whether this was partly because he wanted to put off the inevitable entreaties from his colleagues to _do something._

Their belief in him was humbling and totally unwarranted. The weight on his shoulders after what he now saw as his frivolous sojourn in Paris was immense; irrationally discounting all the good he had done there. He slammed the nearest journal shut and ran his fingers through his hair; grateful for the quiet of his office, away from that room.

They wanted him to do something. To make it stop.

And so he pushed through the doors with a syringe in his hand, full of the strongest sedative he dared give. Treville moved aside as he deftly inserted it into the canula taped to Athos's hand and within seconds, silence descended.

Save for the sound of Porthos sliding down the wall, exhausted, shocked and saddened.

"Can't you do somethin'?" he asked Aramis, pinning him with an accusatory stare.

 _There it was_.

"I am doing something!" Aramis flung back. "He's pumped full of everything I dare give him. We just have to wait."

oOo

Nkosi had sat with him and endured his unfocussed glares. She had shushed him in the middle of the night when he called her "Anne" and had wiped his face when he cried for "Thomas."

There was so much she did not know about this complex man. But she knew the essence of him. Aramis had joined her in the dark still hours when he could not sleep, or when he took a break as he worked long into the night. He settled quietly next to her as she was sat, softly singing an African lullaby to herself.

"You should forget this man, Nkosi," he had said as he watched her shrink back from another fevered accusatory stare.

She had looked at Aramis with brimming eyes but he leant forward and gently took her hand.

"This is not Athos," he explained, gently, as she held his gaze.

"This man is fighting two infections. We must care for him so that Athos can return to us. This is not Athos."

Nkosi nodded. She understood. She would not take his accusations to heart.

But she knew that Athos may yet be taken from them. If he started to show signs of rabies, it would be too late. In a few day's time, it would be time for his next vaccination.

Not far away, d'Artagnan too, was keeping a vigil on Musket from his isolation pen in the veterinary block. He was pining for his master. He was not allowed into the medical facility, but d'Artagnan had treated the cut on his nose and the one on his paw and, like Aramis, he was also counting down the incubation period for Athos's canine friend.

 **To be continued ...**


	19. Chapter 19

**CHAPTER NINETEEN**

The light hurt his eyes. A grey shape was pulsing; growing and diminishing as he watched through eyes he only dared open for seconds at a time. He realised the pulsing kept time with his heartbeat. His headache also kept time with his heartbeat. It was too much trouble to open his eyes completely and the shape disappeared when he kept them closed. The headache stayed the same.

He swiped weakly at the irritant of the oxygen tube above his lip and he eventually cracked open his eyes as much as he dared. His peripheral vision caught a movement as someone leant closer and gently pushed his hand down, weighing it down with one of their own.

Porthos sat beside him, staring solemnly at him with unblinking eyes.

"Bloody 'ell, Ath," he said quietly.

Shocked by Porthos's quiet exclamation, Athos stared back, but his mind would not work. Porthos sniffed and reached over, gently pushing his hair out of his eyes. His large hand lingered on his friend's damp forehead, before he swiped it down, gently encouraging his eyes to close with that motion. _As though he had died,_ Athos thought, with a sigh.

Thankfully, he felt very much alive at that moment.

Pain can do that; but he said nothing. Pain eventually brings clarity.

Later, Porthos told him Roger had found his way back. He said other things, but Athos faded out, aware only of the large hand resting over his.

Then, Porthos was gone but Treville was there, frowning.

"Should I be worried?" Athos asked him, as Treville's solemn face faded in and out.

"No," Treville had replied, softly; "Go to sleep."

When he was sure Athos was asleep, Treville rose to his feet and sighed.

"Leave that to us, son."

oOo

 **The Trouble with Rabies**

"The majority of rabies cases occur in Africa and Asia," Aramis told them, as they all gathered in the living area, when Aramis thought they were strong enough to accept it. He had taken a barrage of questions, before finally deciding a mini-lecture was the best way to explain everything.

Now Treville, Porthos, d'Artagnan and Nkosi sat quietly before him, and he had their full attention.

"The incubation period is typically one to three months; but it can be much longer. During that time, the virus is multiplying in the body," Aramis explained.

"It can be difficult to diagnose," he continued. "The first _symptoms_ of rabies can include headache and nausea, vomiting and anxiety."

"The rabies _vaccination_ does have side effects. It can cause headache, nausea, abdominal pain and muscle aches; similar to flu symptoms. I started him on the vaccine the first day, and as you know, he's been pretty sick with the infections, so any side effects of the vaccine may not be detected until the infections are fully under control."

"That's confusin'" Porthos said, staring at the floor, shuffling his feet and looking thoroughly miserable.

"So 'ow will we know ... you know?" he continued, trailing off. _When_ ... _If ... it_ _starts._

"We need to watch Musket," d'Artagnan replied, taking over. "I've treated both the cut on his muzzle and the one on his paw. From what you said of his behaviour at the cave, the chances are he was scratched by the same animal. It must have still been in the vicinity."

"Yeah, he went runnin' into the cave and then came straight out and ran off over the top. Obviously picked up its scent, and saw it off."

"Can I remind you," Aramis interjected, "we have no way of knowing if that jackal _was_ infected," he said, looking across at d'Artagnan for verification. "So Musket will be the indicator as to whether it was or not."

d'Artagnan nodded; "Scratches from an infected wild carnivore are as dangerous as a bite is to humans."

"So is the incubation period the same for Musket?" Treville asked, beginning to see where this was going. He had been sitting quietly listening, letting his professionals explain.

"No," d'Artagnan replied. "It's a lot shorter and less complex. The first stage for a domestic dog is one to three days, indicated by behavioural change. The second stage is the "excitable" stage, which lasts for three to four days. The third stage is paralysis, and, well, you get the picture."

"So," said Treville, "if Musket has rabies, we will know the jackal was infected. We'll have to try and find it and destroy it, along with any others it's keeping company with. And, from what you are saying, we should know around the seventh or eighth day after the dog was scratched."

"The trouble," Aramis interjected, "is that Musket had a traumatic experience and his behaviour may be different anyway."

"Stage one," Porthos confirmed, and d'Artagnan nodded.

"And he may be excitable if he cannot see Athos," d'Artagnan finished.

"Stage Two, Treville added.

"So we won't have to wait out the _human_ rabies incubation stage?" he ventured. "We are measuring this in days, rather than weeks?"

"That's right. One way or another, we'll know from Musket," d'Artagnan replied, scrubbing his hand over his face dejectedly.

"But there's absolutely no cure for rabies?" Porthos said, wanting to be clear.

"There is no treatment after symptoms appear," Aramis answered, sighing.

"We're in the middle of Stage Two now," Porthos replied, sullenly. "What's Musket like?"

"Very unsettled," d'Artagnan replied.

"We are doing all we can. Let us try and be optimistic, my friends," Aramis said, trailing into the kitchen to make coffee and thereby ending the discussion. Everyone was exhausted and he did not want to go over and over it, which would do none of them any good.

Nkosi had said nothing, her gaze just moving from one man to another.

"What a mess," Porthos muttered miserably. "It's all down to the mutt."

oOo

When his eyes finally focussed, Athos saw Porthos, asleep in the chair. He looked uncomfortable, his bulk too big. He had a sudden urge to reach out and wake him; to hear his voice – to see his smile. He was surprised when his arm obeyed him. He stretched out, his fingers reaching until they were inches from his friend's hand, which was resting on his leg. But then, his strength failed him and he slipped away once more; vaguely aware of his wish unfulfilled. When Porthos shifted only minutes later, waking with a start, the first thing he saw was Athos's outstretched arm, the hand limp; fingers only inches away from his.

"Oh dammit, Athos," he said softly, taking his friend's hand in his own. "I'm sorry."

oOo

Athos felt as if he was floating.

At the same time, his body felt incredibly heavy.

It was an odd feeling, but he was not in pain. He felt ... very calm.

Then he realised he could hear something. Concentrating hard, he let the sound wash over him.

Someone close-by was singing softly.

He listened with his eyes closed and reached into his memory. He knew African songs; he has made a study of them.

 _This was an African song of love; it told of a love that had to wait._

He slowly opened his eyes but did not turn his head; side-glancing toward the sound.

She is not looking at him; she was gazing off toward the window, but he could see her eyes were shining.

Nkosi was singing.

He had heard her sing before, but this was a sad song. He had never heard her sing a sad song ...

" _Malaika ..."_

He continues to float on her voice; no longer feeling heavy. She had a beautiful voice. Of course she had.

" _Malaika, nakupenda Malaika ..._

 _Malaika, nakupenda Malaika._

 _Ningekuoa mali we, ningekuoa dada_

She paused, before taking a shuddering breath and continuing her song.

He wondered if she was as sad as her song.

 _Nashindwa na malisina we ..._

 _Ningekua Malaika"_

When she finished, she sighed and went to stand. Athos closed his eyes; fearing she would be embarrassed if she knew he had been surreptitiously watching her.

She stood looking out of the window for some time and he sneaked another look at her back. Her shoulders were slumped as she traced a finger across the glass.

She _was_ sad.

He was unsure what to do, and in the end he chose the coward's way.

Once more, he closed his eyes as she turned and then he felt her gently touch his hand as she passed by and quietly left the room.

He found himself alone then and for once, he found he did not want it.

oOo

He woke up some time later feeling very tired; remnants of a sad song on his mind.

"How do you feel?" Pothos, ever-present, asked.

"As weak as a kitten," he murmured, turning his head to look at him. "Are kittens weak?"

"Depends on whether it's the runt of the litter," a voice came from the doorway, where d'Artagnan stood, smiling.

"Where is Aramis?" Athos managed.

"Sleepin'" Both he and Nkosi have been with you most of the time.

"You too, I suspect," Athos said looking at the dark smudges under Porthos's eyes.

"Someone 'as to keep an eye on you. Can't have you fallin' out of bed," Porthos grunted.

"Anyway, orders from Aramis. You have to have these," d'Artagnan replied cheerfully, holding up a bottle of pills and shaking them.

"What are they?"

"To make you sleep,"

"I have just woken up!"

"This is _proper_ sleep, not fevered sleep. Your body needs to rest."

There was a difficult conversation to be had very soon, and Aramis wanted to make sure Athos was able to fully comprehend it.

"Anything you need?" d'Artagnan asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

By way of an answer, Athos held out his hand to Porthos, who grasped it readily and squeezed.

"If you're lookin' for an arm wrestlin' match, you won't win," he laughed. It was a good sound, Athos thought, with a huff of appreciation.

He accepted the water that D'Artagnan offered, allowing him to help raise his head while he swallowed the pills.

"This is all very inconvenient," he sighed. "Anyone would think me an invalid."

"Just do as ya told," Porthos growled.

"Hmmmm, I suppose you are right. The "Boss" will not be pleased if I do not," Athos replied, thinking of Aramis.

He looked at the ceiling fan, waiting for sleep to claim him. He squeezed Porthos's hand when he felt it pulling him.

Porthos watched as his eyes began to glaze over.

"He don't like not bein' in control," he murmured to d'Artagnan. "Not anymore."

Seeing Athos was asleep, he patted him on his shoulder and they crept out.

Later, Porthos returned to sit with Athos, who was still deep in his induced sleep, and wondered about the mirror. It had been niggling at him since Aramis had brought it up in the cave.

They knew that strangers had been seen on the land, Athos had seen some men in boats, just before d'Artagnan had joined them. Was that the start of it? They had found the dead elephant that particular morning of d'Artagnan's arrival. Could that have been a coincidence? Poachers taking a chance and passing through? There had been a dead buffalo, and then a wounded one; still recovering in the animal facility. Someone was loose with a rifle or was practising their shooting.

Then, there was their fight in the bar; definitely a set up.

Now a snare – could poachers and gunmen perhaps have led Athos to attempt to bait them and bring them out into the open?

Athos could be fearless and fearsome. He could also be reckless if he thought there was no other way. More often than not; reckless with himself.

Maybe he _would_ have told his brothers of his plan at some point. Or, most probably not, Porthos thought, looking at his sleeping friend.

"Oh, Athos; you damned fool."

 **To be continued ...**

oOo

 **A/N:**

"Malaika" is a very famous Swahili song ("I love you my Angel") and is available to be listened to online with Swahili and English lyrics. It is most famously sung by Miriam Makeba, also known as "Mama Africa," who made it her own.

The medical information in this chapter is as accurate as could be found on various acclaimed medical websites, where government protocols and guidelines can be found.


	20. Chapter 20

_There is a conversation to be had ..._

 **CHAPTER TWENTY**

Telling him had not been easy.

Having woken from the enforced sleep, he thought he was alright.

"Athos, do you remember what happened?" Aramis asked him; not looking forward to the coming conversation.

But Athos just blinked at him.

"You did hit your head; you've probably got a concussion to go with everything else."

"Everything else?" he murmured, looking at them all.

Raising his hand to his face, he seemed to see his bandaged arm for the first time and stared uncomprehendingly at it.

"As well as the snare, you were bitten, Athos," Porthos said gently.

"d'Artagnan analysed the bites in 'is computer."

Athos looked across at d'Artagnan.

"Of course he did," he said quietly, beginning to feel dread coil in his stomach.

"I believe it was a jackal, Athos," d'Artagnan said.

Athos sought out Aramis then, who had been too quiet, and the man came forward and sat on the end of the bed, careful of his elevated foot.

"I treated the wounds on your arm as soon as we discovered them and have commenced your treatment, mon ami."

Athos was quicker to respond than Porthos had been in the cave.

"Rabies," he said flatly.

"We don't know, Athos," d'Artagnan said quickly. "We're waiting on Musket.

Athos's eyes slid back to d'Artagnan.

"Musket?"

"He chased after it. He was cut on his muzzle," Aramis said softly.

"No, no, no," Athos groaned, closing his eyes; shutting them out.

"If he doesn't get sick, we'll know you're in the clear," d'Artagnan pointed out; wanting to offer comfort.

But Athos was having none of it.

"And if he does get sick?!"

He stared at them, but they had no words.

Porthos reached out for his hand, but he shook him off.

"Please ... thank you for what you have done," Athos said. "But, leave me alone now."

In the doorway, Nkosi, unseen, turned and fled before the others saw her.

oOo

Later,

Aramis stood at the end of the bed. When he saw that Athos was awake, he explained that he would need four vaccinations over a two week period, into the muscle; preferably arm. It was to be administered on days one (tick) three (tick), seven and fourteen. He did not mention Musket; it was a touchy subject.

Athos did not respond. He had turned his head and was staring unseeing out the window.

"Do what you like," he eventually said.

Aramis walked around the bed and stood looking down at him until Athos was forced to make eye contact.

"You were a soldier, Athos," he said quietly, folding his arms.

He was obviously going to keep standing there until he got an answer.

"I was."

"And you followed orders."

Athos was becoming irritated; wondering where this was going.

"I did," he replied.

"Now, you are the Head Ranger and you expect your orders to be followed?"

Athos glared at him.

Aramis smiled a bright smile.

"Good!" he said, despite not getting an affirmative. "Then while you are in my domain, think of me as your Commanding Officer and we will get along fine. Once you are discharged, you can return to your taciturn self. Are we in accord?"

Athos sighed; he was at a disadvantage, he could see.

"We are," he finally muttered, before attempting to change the subject. "Where's Porthos?"

"He's gone to check on Thamani. You couldn't settle until you knew she was alright."

"Not alone?"

"No, d'Artagnan went too."

"No-one is to go out alone now," Athos said, turning his gaze back to the window.

"They won't my friend. Porthos knows that."

Athos's eyes slid over to the recess at the other side of the room; his memory stirred.

"Who was the man?"

Aramis frowned, following his gaze.

"What man?"

"There was a man standing there, watching me."

"When?" Aramis replied puzzled but vaguely remembering a similar question in the cave.

"During the night. He was just watching – assessing me."

"What did he say?"

"Nothing. I asked what he wanted and he just turned away and walked off. Did you not see him?"

"What did he look like?"

But the memory was lost, flitting away quickly.

Aramis shook his head.

"There was no one here, mon ami; You were pretty out of it. Are you sure? You could have been dreaming."

"I know someone was here," Athos persisted. "He was standing over there watching me."

Athos frowned. He did not argue, but he knew he had been awake.

Aramis may have pried a little further but any further discussion ended when d'Artagnan bounded into the room, clutching his camera.

"Treville said you were awake!" he smiled happily.

Athos looked at the camera he was holding.

"Please, do tell me you are not here to take photos?" he said, eyeing the camera warily.

d'Artagnan looked down at the camera and then laughed, before shuffling his way onto the bed, next to Athos's shoulder. He clicked the camera on and thumbed through the photos before stopping at a particular one.

He leant over and showed him photos of Porthos standing with the rhino herd behind him; Thamani clearly in shot. Porthos had both thumbs up and was grinning like a loon.

Athos could not suppress a smile as he looked at Porthos and equally, saw that the rhino herd. and in particular his girl, were safe.

oOo

The first time Porthos appeared with a bowl of warm soapy water and a towel draped over his shoulder, Athos gave him one of his disdainful looks.

"We're soldiers, Athos," the big man had laughed, undeterred. "It ain't like we never had to make do before."

During the first wash, Athos had fallen asleep half way through, but Porthos had carried on, chatting amiably to his sleeping friend until the job was done. Thereafter, it became a routine and the bowl would appear first thing in the morning and last thing at night, with Porthos in a supervisory role as Athos managed the sponge and toothbrush himself. With his right arm heavily bandaged, he could not trim his beard himself, but Aramis was quite adept at that, as he did sport a very stylish beard himself.

d'Artagnan turned out to be a very decent cook and he and Nkosi made some exceptional meals. Once a day they all crowded into Athos's room to eat together. That way, Aramis could ensure his patient ate at least one meal a day. Porthos had brought some of his tee shirts and shorts across from his lodge to replace the hospital gown and, gradually, Athos started to feel human again. Almost.

oOo

Guy de Rochefort meanwhile, had gone behind Yaroslav Krupin's back and had made contact with eight of his Red Guard. They had already tested the Rangers in the Maun bar.

They would take Heshima when the time was right. He was not entirely without funds, as he had several operations on the go, but this one, Heshima, was the one that would be the most lucrative. To own this reserve would bring the ultimate reward. Then, he would think about betraying Krupin.

"Watch the land carefully; do not let yourselves be seen now; not until we are ready," he had told the men.

In the meantime, he had organised his own lucrative operation to bring in some cash for himself.

Some weeks ago, he had organised a display of the possibilities for the future of Heshima.

Somewhere in America, someone had sat in their home, watching on a computer screen. Rochefort's client then selected a buffalo and directed Rochefort's appointed man on the reserve to prepare to shoot it.

Rochefort's man would then follow instructions from the American client directly; to the letter. If the shot was not sure, it was taken anyway. It was part of the hunter's experience; even if he was not a good aim. The animal could be despatched later and the carcasses disposed of once they were offline.

Rochefort paid well, by African standards, but his funds would eventually run low and this type of shoot provided him with enough to continue. He could claim a very high price for such an "experience" and there was always a crop of lazy underground "hunter's" who could achieve what they wanted without having to buy a rifle, leave their homes, or board a plane.

He had local help now; there was always a clamour for employment in this region, no matter what that employment entailed. Not all local people cared for animals the way these men on Heshima seemed to. There had been two trial runs now, and as far as he could tell, they had been successful. The clients were happy; they had paid him the considerable fee. This would be lucrative, as long as he did not overdo it. He had started with buffalo, but, if he was careful, he could move on to other animals. The odd lion, or rhinoceros perhaps.

"Heshima," - he would have to change that name though, once the reserve was his, he sneered to himself.

Meanwhile, Krupin was unaware of Rochefort's latest money-making activities. Big game hunting had initially been considered by him for this land; but such hunting was subject to permits, quotas and regulations and could draw too much attention from those with a moral objection. Mining was much more lucrative and there were means of surveying land by satellite that was quick and would yield results.

Rochefort was a fool, but he would make use of him until such time as he was of no further use.

oOo

When Porthos and d'Artagnan arrived in the Tswana village a few days after finding Athos, they did not come to accuse, but to ask for help. At least, that had been the intention, but Porthos wanted information.

They sat in front of the assembled village.

"Our brother, Athos, has been injured," Porthos growled, no longer the friendly giant the children loved.

The people stared as he held up the bloodied shirt that Aramis had wrapped around Athos's foot. Before he could say any more, a low mutter started up. Soon, the crowd parted from the back and Oba walked toward them, followed by Tabansi.

All fell quiet.

"Now, he hasn't been able to tell us anything, but the last place he came to was 'ere," Porthos finished, watching as Oba took his place next to his father.

"Where is Nkosi?" Oba asked, frowning at Porthos and d'Artagnan.

"She's alright," d'Artagnan said quickly, raising his hands, "She's with him. He's been very sick."

Nyack had been standing to his side, allowing Porthos and d'Artagnan to have their say.

"That is good," the old man breathed; reassured his daughter was safe, he nodded slowly as he came forward now.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I should have told you," Porthos added quietly.

"They didn't leave together," Porthos looked at the other brother. "Tabansi, you told him you'd seen strangers in the area?"

"Yes, for the last few weeks," Tabansi answered. "You said you'd seen evidence too. Athos wanted to check on the white rhino; he felt she may be in danger."

"Why didn't you go with him?" d'Artagnan asked suddenly, "Why would you let him go on his own?"

Oba straightened at d'Artagnan's tone toward Tabansi and Porthos held up his hand.

"No-one's accusin' anyone, Oba. We're just worried about Athos.

"He said he wanted to go on his own, on horseback." Tabansi replied. "He said our trucks might alert them."

Rach appeared then.

"If these men were poachers, we cannot stop them laying their snares!" he said angrily. "It is your land now. You should look after it!"

"Enough!" Nyack said, standing.

"We are worried, Porthos," the old man said, turning to Porthos and d'Artagnan;

"I wish my friend well, I will say a healing prayer for him. But like it or not, you have brought enemies with you," Nyack continued. "My daughter is in your hands. I know she will not return while Athos is injured," he added, before placing his hand on Porthos's arm. "Please ensure her safety."

"Course we will," Porthos replied, patting the old man's hand. "She's one of us."

Rach turned and walked angrily away.

Oba took a step forward then and addressed Porthos and d'Artagnan.

"Tell your brother the Tswana all wish him a speedy recovery. We should all work together. We have a saying, "Unity is strength; Division is weakness." *

"Yeah, we've got one like it; "All for One and One for All," Porthos said.

"United we stand, Divided we fall," d'Artagnan said quietly, and Oba nodded.

Porthos and d'Artagnan shook hands with Nyack, Oba and Tabansi and walked out of the village and back toward their truck. They were leaving at least on better terms than when they arrived.

"That went well," d'Artagnan muttered. "Don't you think you were a bit ... "

"Sometimes, you gotta be a bit proactive," Porthos growled, cutting him off, as they climbed into the truck.

"What do you mean?" d'Artagnan asked, taking a look back at the villagers, who were now dispersing. The two brothers were standing together, talking; their father having gone back to his house. Some of the children were waving and d'Artagnan waved back briefly before turning in his seat to look at Porthos, who was staring ahead.

"We didn't say how Athos was injured and we didn't say anything about a snare," Porthos said quietly, stuffing the shirt under the seat of the truck, and turning on the ignition.

 **To be continued ...**

 ***** Swahili proverb


	21. Chapter 21

**CHAPTER TWENTY ONE**

Nkosi and Athos had spent the morning together in his room. It had not gone well. He had hardly spoken; staring into space for most of the time. Any attempt at conversation had been met with monosyllabic replies. Eventually, she had sunk into silence.

"I am a most unlucky man," he murmured. "Perhaps you are beginning to see that. Or are you going to tell me I will be reborn in the morning?" he added, cuttingly.

He had not looked at her, merely saying it with his eyes closed. He therefore did not see the tears forming in her eyes as she stared at him.

He kept his eyes closed as she left the room, quietly closing the door after her.

Porthos sighed when he saw Nkosi emerge. He could see the hurt as he came toward her.

"I do not know what to say to him," she whispered. She had not seen this side of Athos, but Porthos had and he pulled her toward the sofa and sat her down.

"It's a lot to take in; he has to sort it out in 'is head. Then he'll come back fightin'"

But she saw that Porthos's head was down and his body language betrayed the confidence he sought to instil.

"One thing I do know," he added softly, before looking at her. "He has a vicious temper and he'll use it to try and push you away."

She looked back at him with wide eyes, hanging on his words.

"But you gotta stand firm. You gotta look 'im straight in the eye. That undoes 'im," he continued, taking a deep breath. "See, it's an act. Granted, he's got plenty of fuel this time."

He reached out and took her hand.

"But don't let 'im burn you. He couldn't bear that," he said quietly.

She smiled then for the first time and he brightened as his small victory.

"Thank you, Porthos," she said, softly.

"S'alright," he smiled. "Chin up, yeah?"

And then, she experienced one of his hugs.

Wrapped in his arms, her face pressed to his chest, she felt secure and a little stronger.

"Good girl," he said, his voice rumbling in his chest.

"He can be a bit of a bad-tempered berk, our Athos," he said. "But he's our berk."

This brought a peel of laughter and a shocked expression from her, which made him chuckle.

When he looked up, Aramis and d'Artagnan had come into the kitchen and were standing quite still watching him. The look on their faces showed they had heard his words.

Porthos sniffed and met their gaze. He let go of Nkosi and she leaned back into the sofa.

"So now you all know," he said. "And Treville knows too. He always has," he added.

He stood then, before facing the three of them.

"So let's get 'im through this."

oOo

Porthos was proved right, as Athos's mood darkened over the next few days and much of what he said was hard to endure; until the final argument.

"This is _not_ your fight," Athos growled at Porthos as he tried to bring him out of his thoughts. But Porthos just stared back at him. He was not Nkosi and he had known Athos a long time.

"Don't you push us away," Porthos said, his voice low; almost menacing.

"This is not a journey you would wish to accompany me on, Porthos!"

"How the hell can you say that, Athos!?" Porthos shot back. "After all we've been through? All the tours; all the crap we've taken over the years? We've seen each other at our worst, and did either of us decide to give up on the other? So why do you think so little of me NOW?!"

Porthos stood suddenly and the chair scraped back. Athos flinched, before raising his eyes to look at his angry friend towering over him, and his resolve fell away.

Athos's face crumpled and he suddenly looked _wounded_. For a moment, it seemed as though he couldn't breathe. He looked up at Porthos standing over him, and his eyes swam with unshed tears. He reached up a hand, and Porthos stared at it. For a moment his hand hung in the air and Athos almost withdrew it. Suddenly Porthos grabbed it and pulled him forward, wrapping him in his arms.

After a few moments he released him and held him at arm's length, fixing him with a glare.

"Don't push me away, Ath. 'Cos I ain't going anywhere. You understand? None of us are!"

Athos swiped a hand across his eyes and then he appeared to come to some decision. His face took on a more determined look, and he nodded.

"I understand."

"Atta boy," Porthos whispered, and gently pushed him back into the pillow.

oOo

Once that was settled, it was Nkosi's turn to understand.

"What were you thinking?!" she said quietly to him, as she sat holding his hand later that day.

"Nzuri," he whispered. ("I am fine.")

"You are not _fine;_ look at you," she replied, letting go of his hand.

"I just wanted to check on Thamani," he replied, wearily. "I could not bear it if she were killed."

"I know," Nkosi relented with a sigh. "She is your baby, yangu mpendwa" ( _my dear friend_ )

"Yes, I suppose she is."

Athos had watched her being born. He had kept watch for several days and then on one glorious morning, it happened. It was one of the most wonderful things he had witnessed in his time on the reserve.

"Go to sleep," she said softly and Athos closed his eyes.

His face softened and she stood.

Impulsively, she leant over and kissed him.

When she pulled back, her breath caught as she saw he was looking at her with wide green eyes.

"I am sorry," she whispered, flustered.

"Please ...don't apologise," he said quietly, reaching for her hand.

oOo

It was a worrying time; not least for Treville, who was catching rumblings of disquiet amongst some of his backers. It had taken him back to London to give his reassurances.

d'Artagnan had had a long on-line conversation with Treville before one of his meetings. Both of them knew the fate of all the animals hung on whether Musket began to show symptoms. Steps would have to be taken and unbeknown to the others, Treville and d'Artagnan reached an agreement about the logistics of a cull, should the worst happen. After they had made tentative arrangements, Treville wanted to speak to Athos and d'Artagnan made his way to the infirmary.

"Someone wants to Skype-speak with you," d'Artagnan said, bringing his laptop to his side.

Treville's face appeared on the screen.

"How, are you, Athos?" he said, leaning forward, face etched with worry.

"I am sorry, Jean," Athos replied, ignoring his question; knowing what Treville wanted to know.

"But these men have been around for a while now. Then they baited us in the bar ..."

"A bait which you all took," Treville interrupted.

"They were threatening the locals."

"To get to all of you!" Treville replied.

"I concede your point, Jean, but hindsight is a wonderful thing. If I had not stepped into that damned snare, I could have baited them in."

"For what purpose?!" Treville ground out.

"Reconnaissance," Athos hissed. "Surely you understand that!"

" _Athos_..." Treville replied, his voice low.

Athos knew he was pushing it, but he had a point to make.

"I saw at least eight of them on the river that time, and there were four in the bar. Was that half their contingent or does that make twelve of them? Because if it does, that is quite a force."

"So you sought to lure them to you?"

"Yes, at least to the cave."

"To interest them in crates and mirrors," Treville said wearily.

"The mirror was mine. The crates were not." Athos replied quietly.

That surprised Treville.

"So they know about the cave?" he frowned.

"It would seem so. What was in the crates?" Athos asked then.

He had barely registered them when he graced the floor of the cave with his sudden presence.

"They were empty," Treville replied, "I would suggest rations, perhaps."

"Or ammunition," Athos replied. "If I had not stepped into that damned snare, I could have investigated."

"That was very foolish," Treville said quietly, any anger he felt at Athos's action had dissipated after seeing his Head Ranger looking a little better, at least physically.

"We are soldiers, Jean," Athos hissed, angry at being spoken to like that.

"So are they," Treville sighed, suddenly looking his age. "They are Russian, Athos. You know what they are capable of. They took on the Russian mafia. Be very careful."

oOo

As Athos got stronger and began to look better, however, it only highlighted his predicament that he may soon be beyond help and they were all acutely aware that the incubation clock was ticking; no matter how much they avoided talking about it.

One evening, Athos wanted to talk and their peaceful time together came crashing down.

It had started when d'Artagnan had replied to Athos's concerns about Musket. He was off his food and was listless; he was missing his master, d'Artagnan had said, but it was too great a risk to reunite them. Under normal circumstances, if Musket had been a hearing dog, Athos could have recorded his voice on d'Artagnan's phone to reassure him.

"As soon as he is clear, I will bring him to see you," d'Artagnan had chatted on, nonchalantly.

This only served to make Athos more determined to bring them all back to reality. With the exception of Aramis, who Athos knew, watched him constantly, the others were beginning to act as if all was well, including their young vet, which surprised him. He had not realised how close they had become, as he shared his knowledge with the young man. d'Artagnan had kept him updated on his work, and had read to him when he could not sleep. He was now one of them, and Athos could not spare him.

His mind was made up and, therefore, in the end he was brutal.

oOo

 **A Moral Dilemma**

It was a conversation they all had to have, and so at his request, they all gathered in Athos's room.

Athos, ever practical, was now beginning to contemplate the near future, should it not go his way.

"I will bash my brains out on that wall before I let you _see_ me like that!" Athos had told them fiercely, as things got a little emotional.

They were offering platitudes. Athos didn't want to do emotional, and so he chose aggression. It was the only way he knew to get through to them. The alternative was unthinkable to them, but he had seen rabid animals during his tours of Africa. He had destroyed several. Once, he saw a rabid man.

No-one spoke for some minutes, all failing to meet his eyes, which sought each one of them out mercilessly.

"You won't have to do that," Aramis had finally replied, sighing. "There are ways."

"You swore an oath to protect human life," Athos shot back at him. He realised he was now arguing against himself.

" _I_ didn't" d'Artagnan said quietly, before Aramis could reply.

Athos stared at him.

"This is the strangest conversation we have ever had," Athos smiled then at the ridiculousness of it. "We are talking about how best we can euthanize me."

Porthos was very quiet, "That's not even remotely funny Ath."

Athos looked at his friend, knowing he could never involve him in what he had in mind.

"I apologise, my friend," he sighed. "You are right, of course. It is not remotely funny."

Athos looked at Aramis and d'Artagnan; he was immensely affected by their offer.

"I cannot let you do that, gentlemen," he said quietly. "Just ... give me the means."

It was suddenly deadly quiet. The air seemed to have been sucked out of the room.

He had not expected what happened next.

"I can do that," Porthos said quietly, meeting Athos's eyes defiantly. He would not be swayed Athos saw, and so he nodded.

"Thank you."

"How is Musket?" he then asked, to break the awful tension in the room.

"So far, so good," d'Artagnan replied, tucking his hands under his arms, in the familiar gesture they had seen so many times now.

"He has not had a very good start in life," Athos murmured, staring down at his hands.

"Until he met you," Porthos replied gently.

"He knows all my secrets," Athos said quietly then, lost in thought.

They all shared a look at that.

He looked up and saw they were all looking questioningly at him.

"Sometimes," Athos said, "he comes up into the tree house by the lagoon with me,"

"We chat."

"I'd love to be a fly on _that_ wall," d'Artagnan huffed, which brought a ripple of laughter and lightened the atmosphere a little.

"In your dreams," Athos smiled, before closing his eyes. "Out with you now," he said, and they all slipped out, each one touching his shoulder as they left.

Later, with a heavy heart, Porthos slipped into Athos's room in the staff lodge. He sat on the bed for a few moments, looking around at Athos's things; gathering his thoughts. His taciturn friend did not surround himself with sentimental things, but his room was ordered and what was there brought Porthos comfort. A certain book; an expensive paperweight. A stupid postcard Porthos had sent him from a stupid holiday that brought tears to his eyes as he picked it up and read his own stupid words. Athos had actually kept it; even propping it up on his shelf.

He thought about his visit to the Tswana. It was not the time to pursue it. It would all unfold soon enough. Right now, he had other things on his mind. Athos needed help, and he had promised to help him.

He leant across and slid open the drawer in the bedside cabinet. Taking the loaded gun from his holster in the small of his back, he reached across and placed it carefully in the drawer. He stared at it for a moment and then he gently closed the drawer and quietly left the room.

 **To be continued ...**


	22. Chapter 22

**CHAPTER TWENTY TWO**

 **A/N:** A word of warning: There is mention of the Indian Parsi community's funeral tradition of using vultures in this chapter. Not everyone's cup of tea, but interesting from an anthropologist's point of view perhaps.

oOo

Now they had had their worst conversation and talked about things they never thought they would, they were able to put it to the back of their minds somewhat; together with the possible outcome that hung over them. It became the norm to spend time with Athos, and they all pulled chairs into his space in the infirmary whenever they could.

It was easier for Aramis and d'Artagnan as they were both stationed in the Garrison for the most part, but at Athos's insistence, Porthos had begun to cover for him, supervising the wardens and volunteers and sending increased numbers to patrol their land, ever watchful. The incubation time for Musket was almost up, less than twenty four hours now, give or take; but, for a few hours each time they all were together, things almost seemed normal and talk turned to other things.

Finally, during this time, d'Artagnan, ever curious, finally heard Aramis's story.

"The Army put me through medical school; right after University," Aramis started softly.

"That's where I also learned to shoot; although my father had been a crack shot in the Army, so I suppose I inherited his eye."

He ran his hand through his hair, becoming lost in memories.

"One time," he continued, "we were pinned down by insurgents. Everyone was killed. I was the only survivor. Just me and my rifle," he huffed grimly. "It took them three days to find me," he finished, his fingers straying to the small gold crucifix he wore around his neck, which perhaps spoke of conversations he had had with his higher power, alone in the wilderness.

He gave Athos a haunted look that spoke of hidden demons to rival his.

"I know the value of that last bullet, Athos."

Athos held his tortured gaze and then dipped his head in acknowledgement. No-one questioned Aramis; he had shared his story, and that was enough for them.

Their medic brightened then and smiled at his friends.

"I left the Army soon after that and wanted to pursue a private practice where I was not given orders that questioned my faith."

He rose and walked across to a small table in the corner of the room, where he poured them all a drink; a fine Chianti he had brought in with him that morning. It seemed, Athos thought, watching him, the CO was lowering his standards. Even the patient was allowed a small one.

"So I chose plastics and, for a while, it was incredible," he continued. "Then, Treville came. He just appeared one day, like it was meant to be. I had had enough of it by then," he said, lost in thought once more, remembering that fateful morning when Treville had approached him after his lecture. After a beat, he shook himself, looking up at them once more. "It seems I have a restless spirit," he laughed.

"But I like it here. I think I will stay," he added, swallowing his wine.

"I think we have all found our place in Heshima," Athos replied, looking into his glass as he swirled his wine around.

He raised his glass;

"Kwa urafiki, kwa udugu, kwa amani" he said, softly. ("To friendship, to brotherhood, to peace")

They had toasted friendship and brotherhood before, but now the final two words that Athos added seemed especially relevant.

They all raised their glasses.

oOo

Waiting for Musket to develop symptoms was a _very_ long and very strange week.

It was a week that consolidated their brotherhood; but also tested it.

They had all lost people they loved, but never like this. There had been time to make a difference; time to talk. d'Artagnan had known sudden death when his father died, but he did not know what was worse, if such a point could even be argued. Losing someone quickly or in a drawn-out manner over long months, as Porthos had experienced when he was a child. Or in this case, having such a tight timescale when the end could be quick but brutally savage.

They had gone through a range of emotions in such a short space of time, before finally settling into a kind of numb acceptance.

For Athos, it was a time to take stock and make his peace.

Sitting alone with Nkosi now, he had looked at her.

"What?" she whispered, meeting his eyes.

"Africa is a beautiful but deadly temptress," he murmured.

"She is cruel," Nkosi had answered, fiercely.

She was having great difficulty being as accepting as the others.

"Not cruel. Brutal perhaps," Athos replied. "On the savannah and in the woodland and in the water, there is life and love and loyalty playing out; all living things engaged in the struggle for life. Africa is the birthplace of civilisation, Nkosi – she is its very heart. I have been privileged to know her."

He reached out took her hand, turning it over and running his fingers lightly across her palm.

"And I am privileged to know you - a daughter of Africa."

"And here, the weak are abandoned to their fate," he finished, looking up as Porthos joined them.

"We won't abandon you," Porthos said, catching his last words.

He walked across to the window and stared out.

In his time as an anthropologist, Athos had written many papers on different society's attitudes to the disposal of human remains. Personally, he favoured the Indian Parsi community's tradition of taking the deceased to the Tower of Silence and allowing their great vultures to do the work. A dog was essential in the funeral procession, where relatives and friends walked in pairs connected with white fabric, because the Parsi believe that dogs are able to see death. The whole process seemed most efficient to him.

Of course, he did not voice that.

"It is the way," Athos said, simply, his eyes on Porthos's back. "It is survival of the fittest."

"No, not here," Porthos answered quietly, without turning around.

oOo

Following Porthos and d'Artagnan's visit, Rach Seko had not been back to his village.

It was he who had followed Athos and he had seen him go into the cave a few weeks before. Rach had waited until he left one time and had then gone to investigate. Seeing the mirror, he realised what he was up to.

Nkosi, it seemed, was following in his father's footsteps in choosing a white European as a partner. This man had insinuated himself into his family. Now, he was threatening his plans. These Russians paid good money for local eyes and ears.

Rochefort had told him that it was the time to add poachers to the list of predators threatening Heshima. Their Rangers had already found the dead buffalo; he had not been involved in that but he had no concerns about it; animals were killed all the time in Africa, one way or another. However, snares were another matter and laying them was dangerous if you were seen.

Rochefort had wanted Rach to lay a snare, as further evidence of poachers. The cave, Rach thought, would be the ideal place and would be discovered quickly in view of Athos's covert activities. So he had laid it and then covered it with brush. Rach did not know there were resident jackals that used the cave; bringing their kill in the night. He only wanted Athos to find the snare, not fall into it.

Watching from a distance that evening, he had seen the jackal circling, becoming bolder. Later, when he returned to the cave and saw Athos, he had panicked. That was when he made the decision to release the horse to run home and then he too had fled, leaving Athos to take care of himself.

Later, in the early hours, unable to settle, he had crept into the Garrison and hidden, before finding his way into Athos's room in the infirmary. Standing in the shadows and watching, he had seen how badly Athos was hurt. Athos had seen him, but judging by the state he was in, he doubted he would remember their encounter.

That day in the village, when Porthos had held up the bloodied shirt, it came home to him what he had done and he was horrified. Once again, though, he had reacted violently and had stormed off.

Now, as he sat beneath a mopane tree on the edge of the lagoon, throwing stones into the water, he was utterly miserable. This was his fault, Rach realised. He had been naive in the extreme and now, he was isolated from his family and his home. Rochefort had said he would expose him to his village and promised further retribution against his family if he did not do his bidding. He had gotten in too deep to stop now.

 _But, if Athos died ..._

oOo

"Tell me, what were you thinking?" Rochefort drawled, some days later.

The young man sat in the cab of the truck, tapping his hand on the frame of the open window, his other hand resting on the steering wheel. They were parked up in the bush; Rochefort's invitation one he could not ignore. He had hit him before, almost blinding him. He was beginning to think this man was not just brutal, but unstable.

Rach still had the remnants of a black eye, given to him by Rochefort for not killing the second buffalo. "What hunter leaves an animal alive?" he had sneered. "You draw attention to us. They will think we are damned amateurs."

Rochefort stared ahead, seeing nothing; lost in simmering anger.

"You wanted evidence of poachers," the young man replied, thinking once more of the snare.

Rochefort turned his head then and looked coldly at his passenger.

"Evidence, yes. But it is too soon for injuries. They can handle a few poachers; but Treville and his backers will not countenance war on his Rangers! If it continues, soon we will not be able to move around this land. No-one was supposed to step into that snare. An animal would have been sufficient, to keep the pressure up.

It was the longest speech this pompous man had given.

"He deserved it," the young man said venomously; his irrational anger at Athos rising once more.

Rochefort reached out slowly and placed his hand over the young man's hand that was still holding the steering wheel.

"There is no room for personal vendettas. Not by you, anyway."

There was silence for a moment, until Rochefort sighed out his tension.

"Do not ruin this for me," he said in an almost sing-song voice.

His hand slowly tightened and twisted then, and the young man cried out, caught by the sudden pain and sideways momentum.

"Heed me," Rochefort said then, as the bones beneath his twisting hand snapped.

 **To be continued ...**


	23. Chapter 23

**CHAPTER TWENTY THREE**

Finally, on the eighth day, d'Artagnan appeared in the doorway. Nkosi was behind him, responding to a message he had sent her to meet them in Athos's room.

"Someone to see you, Athos," he said quietly; grinning at Porthos and Aramis who were both in his room.

Athos looked over and there was Musket, standing with d'Artagnan. He looked a little dejected, until he saw Athos. Then his tail started to wag from side to side and soon, the movement travelled up his spine until his whole body was wagging. d'Artagnan brought him over and he reared up, putting his front paws on the bed; making the most incredible happy excited noise.

Athos laughed.

"My brave boy," he whispered, as he ran his fingers over the dog's ears in a way that Musket seemed to particularly enjoy;

"Hello, my friend; it is good to see you. Thank you for finding me."

It was a very emotional moment, as they all looked at each other, with tears in their eyes.

Athos locked eyes expectantly with d'Artagnan, and the moment hung in the air. d'Artagnan stepped closer and a wide grin spread across his face as he gave Athos a slow, sure nod of his head.

 _Musket was well!_ The wait was over.

Porthos pulled everyone into a hug. d'Artagnan and Aramis shook hands, before they too pulled each other close, clapping each other on the back.

Porthos then stepped toward Athos and took his face gently between his hands, before pressing a firm kiss on his forehead, a kiss he held as Athos reached up and took hold of his friend's wrists.

They all crowded around then and made as much a fuss of Musket as they did of Athos, who accepted it all with good grace and shining eyes.

Athos continued to rub Musket's ears. "We both have scars, mon belle chien, but we have lived to tell the tale," he murmured, before looking warmly at Aramis and d'Artagnan. "And we have both had the best of surgeons," he added.

Musket, of course, was beside himself at all the fuss, after being virtually on his own for the past week with only d'Artagnan for company.

"I think he will be happy if he never sets eyes on me again," he laughed.

After everyone settled down, Athos caught Nkosi's eye.

"It is not just this morning that sees me reborn," he said, before looking around the room at his gathered friends. "It is all of you," he finished; his voice, very close to breaking.

Porthos leant over to Nkosi, who was standing beside him.

"And sometimes, he surprises ya," he whispered to her.

After the reunion, Aramis placed a call to Treville to give him the good news.

After eight days of hell, there was a celebration to be had and a certain dog was the guest of honour.

Later, Aramis shooed everyone out, leaving Athos and Nkosi alone.

"Nkosi," Athos said, looking meaningfully at her. "Lock the door."

"Your ankle ..." she whispered.

He lowered his chin and raised his eyebrows, looking at her with eyes she could never resist.

"To hell with my ankle," he replied. "Just lock the damned door."

She smiled as she moved to do so; remembering to also drop the blind.

oOo

"Do you think that it was a deliberate trap?" Athos asked, the following morning, after Porthos had told him about their visit to the Tswana. Musket was tucked up asleep under the bed, having eaten a hearty meal. He had missed his master and was not about to leave his side just yet.

"Hard to tell," Porthos replied. "Someone had been usin' that cave. Rach knows somethin' but we can't push 'im. We can't ask 'im anyway," he added. "According to one of our lads, he's not been back to the village. I haven't told Nkosi about 'im; not til we know a bit more. Best to keep it under wraps."

"There's a lot more going on here than meets the eye," Athos murmured.

"Well, you stumbled on somewhere they were usin' to scope out the land," Porthos answered. "Maybe the snare was set to deter nosy animals."

"Maybe. Well, some good came from it," Athos replied. "At least we know a little more."

"Yeah, but what are they after?" Porthos growled.

oOo

The following day:

"I am not using THAT!" Athos said indignantly, staring at the wheelchair that Aramis had produced.

"You have another surgery in a few days, my friend," Aramis replied casually. "If you do not want to remain in that bed until then, THAT is your only other option. The foot stays elevated."

He would never better Aramis on his own territory, he knew, but at least he would be mobile. In the end it felt good to leave the room, and he was soon adept as manoeuvring the chair around the infirmary.

Before long, Aramis realised he had gone. Tracking the wheel marks outside, he found him by the lake, in quiet contemplation.

Making his way over, he dropped down next to the chair.

"Are you ok, mon ami?" he said reaching up and putting his hand on Athos's arm.

Athos did not answer at first, but pulling his gaze from the animals at the far side of the lake, he looked down and smiled.

"I was just thinking how precious life is. I dared not contemplate it before."

"Well, you are now free to contemplate it as much as you wish. Make the most of it, Brother, for how else do you know you are alive?"

"I will know with every breath I take, Aramis," Athos replied, looking back at the lake.

"Don't stay out in this heat for long," he said, rising nimbly to his feet.

Athos grasped his wrist lightly before he walked away.

"Thank you," he murmured.

Aramis smiled and patted his hand. He did not disturb him further. Nor offer to help him back to the Garrison. He knew that would not be wanted.

Athos had his independence once more, and he would guard it fiercely.

oOo

"Ready?"

Athos had been staring into the bush from the verandah. He swung the chair around and followed Aramis to the small operating room. This morning, Aramis would complete the closing of the wound in order to avoid any scarring that may restrict the rotation of his ankle. The packing had helped drain the wound and had partially healed the areas where the wire had not cut too deeply. But stitches and repair were now needed for the area still open but thankfully, now free of infection.

An anaesthetist had arrived from the Garobone Hospital to assist, as previously arranged; this time by more conventional transport, driving himself in a 4x4.

Athos had spent a quiet breakfast with d'Artagnan and Porthos; both of whom attempted to distract him from the impending ordeal. Watching them eat whilst he was forbidden had not helped his mood.

As a plastic surgeon, this was Aramis's speciality, but there was a moment halfway through where Athos's blood pressure had suddenly dropped when he wished he had chosen a different profession. He could not stop what he was doing, but the anaesthetist was skilled and after a few agonising moments where Aramis held his breath, the man nodded to him and smiled. All was back on track.

After spending a few quiet hours under careful monitoring in recovery, Aramis gave his consent for Athos to be transferred the following day to his own room in one of the staff lodges. There, surrounded by his own things, he could begin to get over the trauma of his injuries. Once the ankle had healed sufficiently, Aramis would fit a surgical walking boot, which would keep his ankle stable. He could then begin to walk again.

oOo

For a few days, Athos's room was like the one he had left in the infirmary, as he was once more confined to bed. Sooner than Aramis felt wise though, he was attempting to escape from his confinement, and so Aramis measured his bandaged ankle and foot and ordered the surgical boot. He had been tempted to order a pink one, after d'Artagnan's smirking suggestion, but at Porthos's threatening scowl, he decided on black. It would take a few days to arrive, which gave a little more time for the new wound to heal and for Athos to behave.

This morning, d'Artagnan was in charge of the patient.

He had been sitting at the end of Athos's bed, waiting for him to wake, giving Aramis and Porthos a break. Since the scare over his blood pressure, they had all been irritatingly attentive.

"You're a Vet," Athos muttered when he opened his eyes to d'Artagnan reading his chart.

"Similar skills," d'Artagnan shrugged, unphased; putting the chart back on the nearby table.

Remembering the baby he had delivered, Athos acquiesced.

d'Artagnan decided to change tack; broaching the subject that was on all their minds.

"It was a brave thing you tried to do."

Athos met his eyes.

"The rhino's are still at risk," he replied.

"At least the animals are not under the immediate threat of rabies," d'Artagnan said. "But, yes, they are all at risk," he added.

"Thamani," Athos replied quietly. "She is unique."

After a few moments silence, d'Artagnan suggested something he had been thinking about since the second buffalo had been found and their fears of poachers had increased.

"There is something we can do," d'Artagnan said, carefully. "Hear me out," he added.

"What?"

"There is a small herd of white rhino on the Maasai, we could introduce her to them. There is safety in numbers and the herd is under good surveillance."

d'Artagnan sat looking at him with raised eyebrows, waiting for a response.

"They may not take to her. She has her own family," Athos eventually replied softly; knowing he could not overrule a vet on matters such as this, even though d'Artagnan was a relatively new member of their team.

"Then," d'Artagnan said, taking a breath, "We should take her horn."

Athos sighed and looked away. He understood this was often a necessary but drastic action.

"I understand. It just seems like mutilation on a young animal."

"It's an effective deterrent, Athos," d'Artagnan ventured; aware he was treading on eggshells.

"Dammit," Athos said fiercely, "Why don't these people accept that the horn is only bloody hair! It has no medicinal value whatsoever!"

"No medicinal value," d'Artagnan replied, "but thanks to ferocious Asian demand, rhino horn is now worth more per gram than both gold and cocaine."

"That's ... unbelievable," Athos replied.

"There is another way," d'Artagnan added, producing his laptop from out of nowhere and booting it up.

oOo

Two days later, d'Artagnan and Porthos took three trucks and ten of their wardens and headed to the area where the rhino herd had last been seen. After an hour's drive under a hot sun, they located the first of the herd; a huge elderly male. Going a little further into the bush, they emerged onto a wide plain and in front of them, were seven of the rhino family.

Thamani's mother had died the previous year and she had been taken under the care of some of the other females. It would be no mean task to separate the herd out and anaesthetise Thamani. Then, the procedure itself would take some twenty five minutes. They would have to work fast. It was a dangerous business when the rest of the herd were nearby.

Standing on the bed of one of the trucks, harnessed to the cab, d'Artagnan had a tranquiliser gun slung over his shoulder.

In a cloud of dust, the three trucks moved slowly forward, preparing to split the small herd in two.

 **To be continued ...**


	24. Chapter 24

Many thanks for your kind reviews and for helping make this story my most commented on to date!

It is also promising to be my longest, and will be twenty seven chapters long, so four to go.

oOo

What is d'Artagnan's plan for Thamani? Athos finds his feet and Krupin is close ...

 **CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR**

 **More than gold**

As luck would have it, they had Jacques, a young French student with them for the day. He was studying to be a documentary film maker and was visiting the Okavango Delta to film the migration of animals into the lagoons during the floods. He had heard from one of the Heshima wardens about what d'Artagnan was intending and had driven at speed straight to the Garrison.

It suited d'Artagnan to have him along with them; not only to film them for d'Artagnan's research but also for Athos, who was confined to bed and anxious to know what was going on. Jacques would relay his video footage direct into Athos's room by the link that d'Artagnan had set up the evening before.

With everything in place, all d'Artagnan had to do now was perform a procedure that was fairly new and innovative and that he had only read about and seen on-line.

And Athos would be watching.

Right.

Now, he sought out the truck that Jacques was in and the student gave him the thumbs up.

d'Artagnan settled his feet firmly beneath him and brought his rifle around, into position.

oOo

Clouds of dust; the animal's thundering hooves.

Thamani visible.

The animals close ranks. A large bull swerves and stands his ground.

Two of the trucks break off and circle, splitting the herd in two.

They run one half off, the bull included, and slow the vehicles so the animals are less anxious.

Thamani is ahead with one female.

They circle around, and then d'Artagnan fires. He misses. Damn. He wishes Aramis was there.

Porthos, driving one of the trucks, splits the smaller group once more as d'Artagnan reloads.

This time, he hits Thamani in the flank. They slow again, and pull back. The herd remains split, and they move the trucks forward and slowly follow.

Back in his room, Athos watches anxiously with Aramis, both aware that this is not without its dangers.

It is just Thamani and one female now, and she is beginning to stagger. Porthos pulls his truck between them and stops. He will keep pace with the adult female, while d'Artagnan and the other wardens jump down and check on Thamani, who has now slowly sunk down and is subdued; her head between her two front legs. Slowly approaching, d'Artagnan ensures she is unconscious. Six wardens surround her then to monitor and ensure everyone's safety; alert to every twitch she makes.

Pulling a long piece of canvas from the truck, he wraps it firmly around her jaws, and for safety, also ensures her eyes are covered. At this close distance, he can see why Athos is so enamoured with this calf. As an adult, she will weigh 1.8 tons. As a calf she is still an imposing animal; all muscle. He is pleased to see she is in good condition.

This procedure involves "devaluing" the horn by injecting it with ectoparasiticides – and pink dye.

The dye cannot be seen on the outside once it is done and the toxins are harmless to the animal when injected into the horn, but they are _not_ safe for any humans who handle or consume the horns. It can cause nausea, vomiting, diarrhoea, severe headaches at the minimum, which can be permanent. At worst, it can harm the nervous system and can cause cancers in later life.

Rhinos with toxin-infused horns were beginning to roam the African savannahs. Poachers are put in doubt as to whether a particular rhino has been treated, and therefore is deterred from selling a dangerous product. Doubt over not only the value of their product, but the safety of it should prove to be an effective deterrent in time. The balance between risk and reward is dramatically skewed.

Poachers for the main part work on inside information, and when a horn is poisoned, word is spread by rangers and locals. Jacques' film would also be part of that education and help to spread the word into communities and schools.

Treville, with the support of his backers and Board, had already agreed that d'Artagnan would roll out this procedure to all the rhinos on Heshima over the coming weeks.

d'Artagnan now drills two holes into the horn and connects the tank holding the toxins, bolting the tube firmly into place in the drilled holes. He injects the infusion of toxins and dye and gradually, twenty five minutes later, the horn is rendered worthless.

d'Artagnan seeks out Jacques and gives a thumbs up, grinning into the camera. Back at the Garrison, Athos and Aramis slap each other on the back. This will not guarantee her safety, but it is a layer of protection she did not previously have. Soon, her whole family will have that protection.

It is sad that it has come to this but necessary, and they give her the antidote and all quickly move back into their truck. In the distance, they can see the rest of the herd, but the animals are staying back. The lone female is anxious, but has not charged. Porthos has been slowly matching her movements with his truck and she has held back.

d'Artagnan now takes a sample of Thamani's DNA for his database before he administers the anti-dote that will quickly wake her.

On the signal, d'Artagnan releases the canvas holding her jaws closed and they all begin to move back, leaving Thamani alone, as she now begins to wake. They wait until she is on her feet and the female has approached her, before drawing further back. d'Artagan takes photographs of her back on her feet, none the worse for her experience. As the two animals move away to rejoin their herd, he tracks her through his binoculars before nodding to Porthos and they turn the vehicles and head back to the Garrison.

They are all little subdued, but relieved; she is safer now. Her horn has no value and hopefully, when word gets out, she will no longer attract the poacher's attention. There is still the option to remove the horn completely but he is satisfied that this has bought her some time.

d'Artagnan is keen to get back and reassure Athos, aware that he will be anxious for their return and to hear about their experience firsthand.

oOo

 **Johannesburg: Melrose Arch Hotel**

Yaroslav Krupin was now at a place in his life where he enjoyed his comforts.

He had been shuttled from the airport in the hotel's black top of the range Mercedes and had been quickly shown to one of their Presidential Suites.

He was a connoisseur of fine wines and a case of a superior vintage had been delivered to his suite, courtesy of the hotel management.

Johannesburg was one of the world's leading financial centres and the economic and financial hub of South Africa. Krupin had been in the city for several days on business, and last night he had been joined by his "Lieutenant," Koslov. No-one used the man's first name. He doubted many others would know it. Koslov had worked for Yaroslav Krupin since their humble beginnings and he trusted him with his life; a sentiment that had been tested many times over the years.

Koslov was headstrong, but he was loyal and he followed orders. Over the years, they had formed a brotherhood of sorts, inasmuch as one could with someone who killed without compunction and who was hard to read, even after so many years. The man was guarded in the extreme, but Krupin valued his continued support and although each bore scars inflicted by the other, over the years they had reached an understanding. It was Krupin to whom Koslov deferred.

"He is a _fraud_ , Yaro," Koslov was now saying as they sat together.

"I know," Krupin sighed, before slowly smiling. "But he is an amusing one."

Koslov snorted in disgust and stood, moving over to the table where a bottle of red wine stood breathing beside two large crystal glasses. Krupin had turned the room temperature down to 60 degrees an hour before to accommodate the aeration process of this particular vintage, which was lighter in body than some, thus requiring a cooler temperature.

"He is using our men," Koslov persisted. He glanced at his boss as he filled the two glasses, following a nod from Krupin, and carried them across.

"They know it," came the disinterested reply.

He accepted the offered glass and Koslov moved away.

Krupin looked over to his second in command, standing now at the hotel window morosely looking down onto the streets of Johannesburg. They were there on other business, but Heshima was a part of that. Krupin was there to bid for a satellite system. Not a legal transaction, but a necessary one, and although he now presented himself as a legitimate businessman, his more unsavoury secrets were buried deep within his empire. Once he obtained the satellite system, he had a man waiting to further develop it. He needed his own personal version of Operation Condor in order to survey the land in Botswana for mineral deposits; particularly diamonds.

"I am not ready yet, but once we start our satellite surveillance, it will not take long before any mineral deposits are discovered."

Koslov turned from the city's impressive skyline to glare at Krupin.

"And what of Rochefort?"

"He is disrupting them; he will keep them busy," Krupin replied, smiling to himself.

"He is lining his own pockets."

"Leave him be. He is not causing us any difficulties and they think the Red Guard is working for him."

"And they are not?"

"Of course not," Krupin said smoothly. "You know it. The Red Guard knows it; the only one who does not is that disgusting little Frenchman. As long as he does not draw too much attention to himself ..."

Krupin swirled the wine appreciatively around before raising it to his nose; and important step in savouring his wine. He took a small sip and rolled it around his mouth, holding it for several satisfying seconds before swallowing.

"Come, we have work to do," he finally said. "Once all our plans are in place, there will be no need for Rochefort and his little games."

Koslov sat down and opened his laptop. He stole a look at Krupin as the man moved toward the table to refill his drink. He was sometimes surprised that Krupin had such patience.

He was mollified by his friend's next words;

"Do not worry; when the time comes, trust me; he is yours."

They locked eyes; and finally, Koslov smiled slyly.

"I _do_ trust you, Yaro. We are brothers-in-arms."

oOo

 **The Garrison**

Aramis breezed into Athos's room with a large box, which he placed ceremonially on the bed with a flourish.

"We used to knock," Athos said, but his eyes were on the box and when he looked at Aramis, they shared a smile.

The black knee-length surgical walker boot was his passport to full mobility, at last.

Athos sat on the bed and Aramis put his hand on his knee and eased the boot over his foot. It fastened over his bandage and up his leg, leaving the ankle section free of the straps, but otherwise supported. Soon his ankle was held securely and comfortably. The sole was designed to rock, so that walking was easier.

Aramis had also ordered a stick, which collapsed down into three parts, and he pulled this out of the package and snapped it into place.

"It's quite low profile," Athos said, as he stood up on his own, for the first time. "It feels good," he added in surprise, as he began to move tentatively away from the bed with the help of the stick.

"You're good to go, my friend," Aramis laughed. "But you still take the medication and I still want to check those bandages every day."

But he was talking to himself. Athos was already out of the door.

oOo

Meanwhile, not too far away, Rochefort sat in an armchair with his feet on the bed.

"It's all in hand," he drawled into the phone tucked between his shoulder and jaw. "Trust me."

The Russians were checking on him. He would need to be careful. They did not need to know everything.

Later that day he met with Rach Seko. "You can get in there quite easily. You've proved that. You know what to do," he said as he carefully handed him a long phial of liquid.

As the young man left, if Rochefort had seen the swollen fingers from their last meeting, and the way he had carefully held his hand against his chest, he did not acknowledge it.

 **To be continued ...**

oOo

 **A/N:** Toxin infusion is happening now. The jury is still out, but it is preferred by some conservationists to the alternative method of taking the full horn and is much less disfiguring. Bless these people.


	25. Chapter 25

**CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE**

That morning, Treville had arrived back at very short notice and was now sitting in his office, looking over a report. The blinds were drawn and he was tapping his fingers on the desk top as he read, frowning in concentration.

There was a knock on the door and he rose, quickly placing the folder back in his safe and closing the bookshelf framework over it. It clicked into place, covering the safe completely. Ensuring the safe was behind the false front and that nothing was out of place, he gave a satisfied nod, before crossing the room to open the door.

His visitor was standing patiently outside.

"Porthos, come in; sit," he stepped aside and waved the big man inside.

Shaking the dust off his hat, Porthos moved across the room and sat in the chair facing his boss's desk.

"I have a task for you."

Porthos sat forward expectantly. They had all been surprised when Treville had arrived unexpectedly. He had a punishing schedule and recent events had only added to his workload. However, he was as sharp as ever and got straight to the point.

"The cave, where you found Athos," Treville said quietly; "I want you to destroy it. Blow it up; I want no trace of it. Level it to the ground," he finished, having made his point in no uncertain terms.

Porthos frowned but did not speak, holding Treville's steely gaze.

Sensing Porthos's reticence, Treville continued.

"It's in a prominent position. It gives an incredible view across the reserve. It's a poacher's dream," Treville said. "Flatten it."

Porthos grunted. There was nothing he would like more.

"Well, I won't be sorry to see it levelled," he replied. "I never want to step foot in it again."

"Just one last time then," Treville nodded, satisfied. "You have done this type of work before; take as many men as you need."

Porthos pursed his lips, in thought.

"I think d'Artagnan may like to come. There was evidence of animals using it. That damned jackal might have been back. d'Artagnan would love to get his hands on it."

"Very well, I'll leave it to you," Treville said.

Porthos stood but did not leave.

"You don't think it could be of use to us – for surveillance?" he ventured, his hand on the door handle.

"It would be if we did not have these damned poachers sniffing around," Treville replied. "They've already cost us dearly, one way or another. I want them in the open air, not hiding in caves."

Porthos nodded.

"I'll let d'Artagnan know and we can arrange a day," Porthos agreed, taking his leave.

 **Three days later:**

D'Artagnan crouched at the back of the cave, sifting through the picked over bones.

"This is basically a dining table," he said. "From the bones, it looks like a mixture of animals."

He looked up, watching Porthos, who was preparing the explosive charges, ready to lay around the cave.

"Our wild dog is a good hunter."

"If it was just him – could have been used by more than one," Porthos replied, beginning to unwind the cable that would take them outside and away from the cave to safety.

d'Artagnan gathered the bones together and wrapped them in a piece of sacking. He would examine them later in his lab.

There were numerous animal tracks in the cave but not enough to track them far once outside.

Destroying the cave would end the animal's nocturnal visits; and any human ones. d'Artagnan stood and turned, seeing Porthos standing stock still, looking down at the ground. There was still a faint blood stain on the floor where Athos's head had connected when he had fallen through the entrance.

d'Artagnan put his hand on Porthos's shoulder, neither of them needing to speak.

Eventually, d'Artagnan gave his shoulder a shake.

"Come on; the sooner we get this done, the better."

Porthos hummed in agreement and shook himself out of his reverie. Straightening, he took a deep breath through his nose and blew it out.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Good riddance, eh?"

He finished laying the explosive charges around the cave and ran the wire cable outside down the slope. They both crouched between the trees next to the lagoon as Porthos connected the wire to the control box at their feet. Porthos suddenly stood and pulled his gun, firing one shot into the air; making d'Artagnan almost fall on his backside in shock.

"Warnin' shot. Just lettin' the animals know," he said, smiling down at d'Artagnan's face. "Sorry, should 'ave warned ya."

They watched as a flock of birds rose into the air from the water and several dust clouds indicated the movement of other animals.

Satisfied when silence had descended, Porthos crouched down and they both looked across the incline to the cave. Porthos counted out loud to three and pushed the plunger.

There was a soft "boom" and a huge cloud of dust, followed by the sound of falling rocks and shingle as the mouth of the cave disappeared. The roof had collapsed, as planned, and settled. Several rocks of varying sizes rolled down the slope.

Porthos whooped.

When the dust had cleared, they made their way up the slope; now a shallow hillock that would draw little attention. Porthos scrambled on top of what would have been the cave roof and kicked a few remaining rocks aside.

He looked back at d'Artagnan, who had tucked his hair behind his ears and was crouching down on his haunches, raking through the rubble.

"What ya doin'?

d'Artagnan did not hear him, lost in his task.

"What is it?" Porthos called, shielding his eyes against the bright sun.

"I don't know," the young man answered; looking up and frowning.

Porthos picked his way across the loose rubble, sliding down the last of the scree, as d'Artagnan was reaching to pick something up.

As Porthos drew alongside, d'Artagnan held up his hand.

There, in his palm, was a dull stone, one edge chipped.

Porthos picked it up and rubbed his thumb over it, before holding it up to the light, where the chipped edge shone. It was this that had drawn d'Artagnan's attention, as the sun hit the incline.

Porthos slowly looked up, staring at d'Artagnan.

"It's only a bloody diamond!" he breathed.

oOo

Back at the Garrison, Porthos and d'Artagnan almost fell into the living area. Athos was pouring over a number of reports and rostas, getting back into the swing of things. His leg was propped on the low table in front of him as a concession to Aramis, who was in the kitchen area, preparing lunch; one eye on his patient.

Athos lifted his head toward them and raised an enquiring eyebrow at their noisy entrance.

With a grin, Porthos put the slither of diamond onto Athos's palm.

Aramis left what he was doing and came around the counter and joined them, his curiosity overcoming his desire for food.

Athos turned the diamond over in his hand, and gave a low whistle, before looking up at them. He knew where they had been, and therefore, where this had come from.

"What does Treville say?"

"We 'aven't told 'im."

Athos looked up sharply.

"He left early; he's flying to Paris for another meetin.' Said he'd be back tomorrow.

Athos had not even realised he had gone, having gone straight from his room to his office to collect the paperwork, and then settling into the living area when Aramis had found him sitting at his desk, about to turn his computer on.

"Paris? Hasn't the man heard of conference calling?" d'Artagnan was muttering.

Under normal circumstance, Porthos would have laughed and said something about Treville and his Board being old-fashioned, but he was deeply troubled by this find.

He sat down on the sofa opposite Athos; soon joined by d'Artagnan, who propped his feet on the other side of the table. That earned him a glare from Athos, which he returned with an unconcerned grin.

"Athos," Porthos said, "Treville said they'd 'ad the land surveyed before they decided to bid for it. He must know there may be diamonds here."

"Not necessarily," Athos replied, putting his paperwork aside, as he looked carefully at the stone.

"What do you mean?" d'Artagnan said.

"It may have been kept from him; one of Jean's partners may have undertaken the survey."

Athos trusted Treville with his life, but he too had an uneasy feeling, and Porthos knew it.

"You think there's somethin' goin' on here?

Athos sighed.

"I trust Treville, Porthos. He wanted this land for conservation; not profit. If he does know about it, that would mean he is suppressing it."

Aramis walked over and took the diamond from Athos and held it up to the light.

"This is a whole new ball game, my friends," he said quietly.

"And it explains the attempt to discredit him after the auction," Athos said. "And a lot of other things."

"We need to speak to 'im," Porthos sighed.

Athos looked lost in thought, before he spoke again.

"There were ancient paintings on the cave wall," he said. "Did you see them?"

"We had our minds on other things, my friend," Aramis replied.

Athos lowered his eyes, "Yes, of course," he said quietly.

"But," he continued, "It does indicate that the cave goes much deeper – there was a line of ancient paintings that finished at the back of the cave. I think it went beyond the back wall."

"Treville wanted it blown up," Porthos said softly.

"But why?!" Athos replied sharply – "there may be so much human ecology to study in there!"

"I think 'is mind was set."

Athos looked up at him. "Let me speak to Nkosi first before we speak to him. This has been the Tswana's homeland for many generations; she may know something."

oOo

Later, as Nkosi joined them and they all shared lunch, Athos showed her the diamond slither.

She turned it over in her hand before slipping away, telling him she would return soon. Athos had been surprised at her muted response to the stone.

In her room in the Garrison hotel, she took out a box and removed a bracelet of her mother's. There were several uncut diamonds amongst the beads that matched the slither. They were dull stones, but beautiful in their natural state. When she returned later, she showed the bracelet to Athos.

"When my father heard that Treville was planning to buy this land, he was happy, because he wanted it for the people; for the animals."

She placed her hand softly over his.

" Only he and my brothers know about this," she whispered.

"And you," Athos said, taking her hand.

"Yes," she replied, her hand folding around the bracelet.

oOo

"We do not know their source," Treville said firmly, when they challenged him on his return. "They could be spread over a wide area.

After talking into the night, they had all converged on Treville as soon as he returned. Now they stood in his office as he looked wearily up at them from his chair. Athos had refused the offer of a seat, preferring to stand, leaning on his stick; a sure sign he meant business.

"You have seen the Jwaneng mine, Athos," Treville sighed, as he sat back and met their gaze with a steely determination of his own. "You know what that would bring. You have seen the destruction to the landscape. It would wipe the Delta off the face of the earth."

He and Athos had made a point of flying over the mine when they first came to the Delta. The central excavation looked as if a huge meteorite had crashed to earth; or, indeed an atomic bomb had exploded.

Botswana had faced an uncertain future after independence from Britain; much of its land was arid and its people impoverished. Drought and crop failure was common. The discovery of diamonds had changed all that. Amid political stability, the industry flourished and the country prospered.

The Jwaneng mine was the richest in the world, located about 120km west of Gaborone, in the Naledi river valley of the Kalahari. It produced 9.3m tons of ore per year, and an additional 37m tons of waste rock. The mine employed over twenty thousand people and covered 520,000 meters at ground level. If diamonds were found on Heshima, such a mine would swallow and decimate Heshima and the Delta and, as a consequence, destroy the Tswana's homeland.

Treville and his backers understood the value of the mining industry to Botswana, but they also understood that such an industry in the Delta would threaten the behaviour and ecology of endangered large carnivores. They understood the effects of human development on wildlife species and the impact of industry on some of these areas. They understood the importance of protecting the land.

In such a commercial, cut-throat world as this, Heshima and similar private concerns were a bastion against these negatives.

"Did you know there were diamonds there?" Athos asked, pointedly. Like Porthos, he was deeply troubled and not a little angry.

Treville sighed.

"There was some evidence," he finally conceded, not meeting his Head Ranger's eyes.

"When were you going to tell us?" Athos said; his voice low with anger.

"I was sworn to secrecy by the Board. If it had got out, they would have pulled out."

"I am sorry," he continued, "I know you have put your own money into Heshima, but the Board have ultimate control. We did geo-phys, Athos, but we could not survey all the land and if there are diamonds under that cave mouth, they could be spread a long way. We certainly did not know about that entrance; you stumbled upon it by chance."

"What if these Russians already know there is that possibility?" Athos replied, tapping his stick absent-mindedly on the floor.

"What do you mean by that?" Treville said. Athos could see his breathing had changed.

Athos sighed, and ran his hand through his unruly hair. The Russians were around, he knew, but frustratingly, had not shown their hand to the extent of confirming their true intent.

"Nothing, forget it; just my suspicious mind in overdrive," he replied.

"You've been through a lot, Athos. Just put this behind you. Let's just call it a "perfect storm."

Seeing that Treville was adamant on the issue, Athos reluctantly agreed. But he was uneasy – something told him the storm had not yet begun.

"We are not exploring this further," Treville was saying. "It would draw too much attention. This whole area could be swallowed up by the mining industry if this gets out."

"Perhaps it already has," Athos said. "Rochefort at the auction? The investigation into your supposed tax evasion; the Russian interest. What is next?"

oOo

 **A few days later, at the Garrison:**

The young man was holding his hand inside his jacket; unwilling to take it out and show to Aramis.

He had shown up one late afternoon, and Aramis had let him into the infirmary.

Rach had two broken fingers and was in a lot of pain.

"How did you do this?" Aramis asked, also taking in the fading bruise around the young man's eye, remembering that Athos had pointed it out on the night of their bar fight in Maun.

But Rach would not say.

Aramis went to his cupboard and pulled out what he needed. Working quickly and quietly, he taped his fingers together and gave him some pain relief. He then let him out and locked the door after him; watching as he disappeared into the night.

As Rach left, his hand slipped back into his jacket and he sighed deeply as his fingers curled around the glass phial that Rochefort had given him.

What happened next was something that none of them could have envisaged.

 **To be continued ...**


	26. Chapter 26

**CHAPTER TWENTY SIX**

In the dawn light, they stood on the verandah in shock.

On the far side of the lake, three antelope lay dead.

d'Artagnan took off at a run, followed by Porthos and Aramis, while Athos, hindered by his injury, herded the few guests that were up back into the main house.

Waving his arms wildly at two approaching giraffe, d'Artagnan started yelling, turning them away. Making his way to the dead animals, he crouched down to examine them. There was foam in their nostrils; more flowed from their mouths. There was a faint, pungent smell in the air. He stood and looked out across the water; it was clear in the centre, but cloudy at the edge where he stood.

In the background, he could hear Aramis and Porthos herding the animals away from the water's edge. Three of the wardens were driving trucks toward the animals, keeping them away until they eventually lost interest and moved back across the bush.

"Poison," d'Artagnan murmured to himself.

This was cruel beyond belief and it brought tears to his eyes.

oOo

They all worked almost non-stop for the next three days and nights, using the generators and floodlights when it got dark. d'Artagnan analysed the water, taking multiple samples and finding the main contamination on the edges where the animals had been found. It had been intentional, aimed at killing those unfortunate early animals, so that the impact would be felt by those staying in the lodge. Word would spread that the Garrison was not a safe place to be, or to invest in. Treville had aged several years in the days that followed.

They had dug a deep drainage system when they had built the lake; and the large circular drain was located just under the surface of the water. To drain the whole lake, the water would be churned, leading to complete contamination. In a way, that was good, they would be able to dispose of all the water through the drain. The dry ground beneath would soak it up and they would then fence that area off until such time as the lake was safe once more. The spring that fed the lake had luckily not been tampered with and would help to flush the water away.

Treville reluctantly had to close the Garrison to outside visitors; the dead animals had been burned on a pyre and their carcasses rendered to ashes. It was a sad and worrying time.

Worse, the guests staying were some of Treville's present and potential backers, here to see progress and it had been a very productive visit. It had been their last day.

This had been a deliberate, timed action.

oOo

Koslov had already reported that Rochefort, as well as hiring some of the Red Guard, was taking matters into his own hands. He was setting up a potential business for himself, on-line hunting, and Koslov believed Rochefort also had suspicions that they knew more about the land than they were letting on.

Following their meeting in Johannesburg, Krupin had agreed to placate Koslov by sending him to Botswana to find and watch Rochefort.

All in all, Koslov had told Krupin that Rochefort was a liability.

Now, it was confirmed. The lake at their base had been poisoned. Rochefort was ringing too many alarm bells, when a calmer hand was required. Krupin had angrily agreed that it was too late now for that calmer hand, and he therefore ordered Koslov to find Rochefort and arrange a face to face meeting.

It was time for Rochefort to meet his paymaster.

He also gave the go ahead for the satellite surveillance over Heshima to commence.

oOo

Rochefort had no idea if the Russian he was speaking to was Yaroslav Krupin, the one who was paying him. He did not know this man's name; one Russian was very similar to another at this level. The man had slipped into the seat next to him unannounced, as he was sitting in a bar in Robertstown. Rochefort liked to move around, but this man had found him. Rochefort was obviously uncomfortable with the big Russian pressed up against him in the booth.

Koslov though, was enjoying himself. After his discussion with Krupin in Johannesburg, he had taken a step back himself. Their main business was in finding diamonds and Rochefort was a mere distraction. Koslov could see how Krupin could be amused by this man, who was so arrogant he had no idea what was really going on. He had agreed with Krupin that in the interim, it suited them to keep up Rochefort's involvement of chaos and distraction, although he had a feeling that on actually meeting him today, his suspicions would be confirmed; that Rochefort was a loose cannon. A very loose cannon indeed.

Time was running out for Rochefort and so he took some pleasure in announcing that Krupin wanted to meet him.

He slipped a piece of paper with an address and a time on it across to Rochefort.

"Do not disappoint him. He does not like to be disappointed," Koslov had said.

Then, he reached across and picked up the man's untouched bourbon, swallowing it down in one go before turning and walking out; leaving Rochefort staring at the address.

oOo

On the date and time specified Rochefort was met at the address on the piece of paper given to him by Koslov. The man had not spoken, but had taken his watch and indicated that Rochefort should follow him to the sleek car with blacked out windows, parked outside.

Once inside, Rochefort realised that as well as not being able to see in through the windows, he could not see out. Fear began to coil in his stomach as the car pulled slowly away. After what seemed like an hour or more, the car slowed and stopped. He flinched as the door opened, flooding the interior with bright sunlight. Stepping out and shielding his eyes, he saw that he was in front of a single building, in the middle of nowhere. He was escorted through a doorway by the silent man and followed him down several steps into the dark interior. The silent man slipped away, and Rochefort was alone.

Or so he thought.

There was a smell of the pungent smoke hanging in the air and he saw through the fugue at the back of the room that someone was sitting at a table, an opened bottle of vodka in front on them. Sitting in the shadows, only one hand was visible; the fingers holding a black cigarette. Occasionally the hand flicked ash into a crystal ash tray. The smoke billowed up as Rochefort slowly approached, attempting to appear nonchalant, but all the time fighting the urge to cough.

"Rochefort; finally, we meet," the heavily accented voice ground out, as the cigarette was stubbed viciously into the ashtray.

Rochefort recognised it as the voice on his phone. So this was Krupin. His mouth was suddenly dry and although he faced the shadow man, his eyes flicked around the room searching for the means of a possible escape.

There was none.

Before Rochefort could reply, Krupin banged his fist on the table, and demanded an explanation.

As the man leant forward, Rochefort saw the face of his paymaster for the first time.

oOo

It was an angry confrontation and Krupin finally realised what Koslov had long suspected, that Rochefort was irrational, absurd, illogical and most probably, insane.

And so, in a final act to finish it, Krupin promised him riches and told him to attack the Garrison.

"Try and make it look like a war, Rochefort. I am sure you can manage that," Krupin spat out, as the silent man returned and he was escorted out of the basement.

Krupin sat back and lit another cigarette and pulled out his phone. He had no intention of paying him, of course, he thought angrily, as he stabbed the keys.

Walking back up the steps, Rochefort's back straightened and the cockiness returned. He had probably underestimated Krupin, but if he wiped out the Garrison, he believed they could work together. By the time he entered the sunlight once more, he was smiling.

Unbeknown to him, Krupin was, at that moment, putting his second-in-command, Koslov, in charge. The land must be theirs and if that meant the destruction of the Garrison, and the removal of all witnesses, then so be it.

Koslov would ensure Rochefort was blamed.

Poachers, after all, were _very_ violent men.

oOo

When Rochefort returned and ordered Rach Seko to go back to the Garrison on pretence of having his fingers rebound by their medic and then let them in when they came, Rach had finally had enough. He could not be part of such destruction.

When Athos woke up during the night, the familiar shadow was in his room.

"I was not dreaming. It was you who was in my room that night," Athos said quietly as he stared at Nkosi's brother. "And in the cave."

He threw back the covers and sat on the edge of the bed, looking sadly at the young man in front of him.

Rach stepped forward. Athos was taken aback at the change in him. His eyes looked haunted; his shoulders hunched.

"I don't want a fight. I have come to warn you," he said, with a defiance his body language betrayed.

"Was it you who poisoned the lake?" Athos asked him.

Rach did not speak and Athos backtracked; wanting to get as much information as he could.

"Did Rochefort order you to set the snare, Rach?"Athos asked. "Was it meant for me?"

"You are not listening. I have come to warn you."

"'An' why should we trust you?" a new voice filled the room.

It was Porthos, standing in the doorway. He had been sitting quietly outside by the burnt out fire-pit and had seen Rach enter Athos's lodge. He had called Nkosi. It was time she found out about her brother. Then he made his way to the back of the lodge; letting himself quietly in.

"You set the snare on purpose, to catch Athos?!" Porthos growled, having caught the last part of the confrontation.

Looking at Rach's hand, Athos persisted. "Did he do that?"

"If you are in too deep, we can help you," he added, trying to get eye contact.

But Rach was not interested in being interrogated. He was still angry at Athos, but he could not condone what Rochefort was planning. Poisoning the lake had turned his stomach and he would do no more to assist a madman.

Just then, Nkosi stepped into the room behind them. She had heard everything. She froze in shock, and seeing her, Rach turned on Athos.

"You are not of the blood," Rach spat at Athos.

Athos looked at Nkosi, as it began to make sense, and saw that she also had made the connection.

Nkosi took a step closer, "Rach, neither am I, brother," she said.

Rach looked confused, and he faltered; looking from one to the other.

"He's going to attack the Garrison," Rach shouted then, his anger rising once more.

Porthos pulled out his gun.

"Tell us what's goin' on," he said. "And don't leave anythin' out."

Porthos pushed him down into a chair and stood over him. Rach told them everything, and then they locked him up. If they were going to be attacked, he could not be trusted.

Athos put his arm around a despondent Nkosi and pulled her into an embrace, kissing her hair.

Porthos grunted.

"Well, we better get ready, 'cos the Russians are comin'"

 **To be continued ...**

 **A/N:** I know I said this story was twenty seven chapters long – but its twenty eight now


	27. Chapter 27

So, a double chapter today! I couldn't split this one, lol.

 **CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN**

 **The Fight for the Garrison**

In the end, there was no time to get ready.

Although Rach had finally seen the light and had attempted to warn them, he had wasted time in deliberating.

Less than an hour later, at first light, they came.

Nkosi had refused to leave.

The truck they had seen in Maun pulled slowly across the savannah, heading toward the Garrison.

Two other trucks accompanied it. They counted eight black clad men in the back, and the drivers.

Athos and Nkosi went quickly to Treville's office to get the keys to the gun cabinet which was located in a strong room behind the staff Lodge.

Aramis, d'Artagnan and Porthos had dispersed;

Aramis had gone quickly to the Infirmary to make everything was secure;

D'artagnan went to the lab in the animal facility, to put all his papers away and lock down the facility; and then to the animal enclosures to make sure all the animals were locked in their accommodation buildings.

Porthos had made his way quickly to the outer buildings to ensure they were secure.

While d'Artagnan and Porthos were busy making sure everything was secure, unbeknown to them, Aramis had left the Infirmary and made his way to the tree house.

The main gates were locked but they would be no match for the three ex army trucks that were now driving toward them.

Porthos had locked down the last building and climbed into one of the 4 x 4's parked at the rear. He managed to drive around to the back of the lodge, as the three army trucks slowly ground into the main gates, buckling the hinges and sending one of them crashing to the ground. There was a machine gun mounted on the back of one of the trucks. They lined up in the courtyard, and men started to drop down and disappear around the compound.

Soon, smoke started to rise, as one of the holiday lodges by the gate started to blaze.

Inside the staff Lodge, Athos froze at the sound of the door being kicked open, and put his hand gently over Nkosi's mouth to still her. Before they could get to the gun cabinet, they were pinned down at one end of the Lodge, unarmed. In the main room, a Russian is stalking, a rifle slung over his shoulder, in readiness.

Waiting until the man disappeared from sight, Athos managed to get her into his room at the end of the corridor, his boot slipping on the floor; his ankle already beginning to protest at the sudden activity.

Inside his room, Athos practically pushed Nkosi into the bathroom, telling her to lock the door. They shared a lingering look, but she was furious as he pulled the door on her. Outside he pushed a chair under the handle to keep her secure.

He quickly sank to the floor as a shadow passed his window, and he then heard footsteps in the corridor outside.

The door handle slowly turned, and a then a shoulder was put to it.

All went quiet then.

Nkosi chose that moment to lose her patience and began to push on the bathroom door.

The chair Athos had rammed against the handle held firm, which only made her angrier. He had to stop her before she made too much noise and gave them away. He could not shout, and there was nothing to write on and push under the door.

Then he remembered something.

 _Porthos's postcard._

Porthos had, in fact, sent him two postcards from a previous holiday. He had always wanted to visit Las Vegas but knew that would have driven Athos mad and, being Porthos, he had wanted to do everything and see everything. One postcard duly came from Las Vegas and the other after he had gone rock climbing. Climbing was a passion of his and he had always wanted to climb "El Capitan," a very famous, _very_ difficult cliff face in Yosemite National Park in California.

After a scary climb, he had succeeded and had then written his second postcard. The one that Athos now hoped would keep Nkosi safe.

Athos had smiled when he first got that postcard and had kept it to show Porthos and remind him of his words every time he thought up a new crazy stunt.

Now, Athos scooted across the room and grabbed the postcard from his shelf, where he kept it propped up. He then crawled over and pushed it under the door of the bathroom. He needed Nkosi to be quiet, he realised she was angry at being locked in, but she did not know that the man currently stalking around the Lodge was so close, and Athos could not draw attention to her in any way.

He prayed she would understand.

Inside the bathroom, Nkosi was looking for a weapon, but there was nothing she could use. She pulled out all the drawers in the wooden cupboard behind the door. Nothing. She was standing with one of the drawers in her hand when the post card slid quietly under the door. She picked it up and turned it over, recognising Porthos's handwriting:

" _Hey Ath!_

 _I'm risking life and limb out here!_

 _Halfway up, I thought: What would Athos do?_

 _I should listen to you next time. I will definitely listen to you!_

 _Stay safe and boring – see you soon – Love ya, Brother"_

Despite everything, Nkosi smiled when she read it. And she understood what Athos was telling her.

She sank down onto the floor, the drawer still in her hand.

The year of that holiday, Athos had gone to Mexico on a cultural tour of lost civilisations and Porthos had gone to California for some fun. They met up later in New Orleans, for the Mardi Gras. When Nkosi became quiet, Athos breathed a sigh of relief and silently promised never to taunt Porthos with that postcard again.

There was a sudden thump as a shoulder was again put to the door, and he went down on the floor; scooting down next to the bed and the wall.

oOo

The door is splintering now, and a shot is fired; destroying the lock.

Unarmed, he is desperate. Not for himself, but for the young woman in the bathroom.

Suddenly, he remembers Porthos's heart-felt promise and turns to his bedside cabinet. Pulling open the door, he pulls out his books, but there is nothing there. Flinging open the drawer he reaches up from his crouched position, his fingers frantically searching, and pushing items aside.

His door bursts open, just as his fingers curl around a cold metal barrel.

Hopefully, Porthos has kept his promise and the gun is loaded.

There is no time to check and he pulls it from the drawer, arcs it toward the man now climbing over the ruined timber of the door and with a strangled determined shout, he fires.

The man falls backward through the door frame, and is still.

Athos scrambles up, smoking gun still in his hand, and moves to the window, flicking the gun open and checking the barrel. Five bullets left.

 _Bless you Porthos, my friend_.

Outside, he can now see Porthos as he guns his vehicle and drives around one of the unwieldy army trucks, firing into the tyres and engine on the way past, before driving to the rear of the building once more. There are other shots hitting the Russian trucks, but he cannot place them.

Because of the poisoning, there are no tourists around, and they have the place to themselves. Athos grabs his phone and makes a manic call to Treville, who gets on to the police in Gaborone. But they have perhaps two hours before the reinforcements can get to them, and there are eight gunmen loose in the compound and three drivers, who are no doubt armed.

Athos hears running footsteps and braces himself but when the doorway is breached, it is d'Artagnan.

He is carrying two rifles and has a backpack on his shoulder.

"How did you get those?!" Athos shouts in surprise, pushing his hand gun into his belt.

"I keep my tranq guns with the other weapons," d'Artagnan replies as he passes a rifle and ammunition across. "I've got a spare key."

They sit next to each other on the floor, loading their weapons; catching their breath.

"We need to try and preserve as much of the Garrison as we can," Athos says, breathing heavily now, as he pushes the bullets into the barrel of the rifle d'Artagnan has handed him.

As he says it, they hear the sound of a machine gun.

oOo

Athos looked cautiously out of the window, and could see they were raking the storehouse with machine gunfire from the back of one of the trucks. Looking to his right, the lodge by the gate was now well alight. These men knew they had time, they did not care that the smoke was rising twenty feet into the air.

Athos and d'Artagnan stood on each side of the window and each broke a window pane.

Athos looked over to d'Artagnan.

"Rach said Krupin is using satellite surveillance on Heshima. If he discovers diamonds, we are finished," he said.

d'Artagnan smiled at the way Athos could discuss such a possibility at such a time as this.

"Not necessarily," he responded.

Athos raised an eyebrow, but did not have time to respond.

Just as they were lining up their shots, the machine gun ominously swung their way. Suddenly, they heard the single retort of a rifle, and watched as the man aiming the machine gun was thrown back off the truck, the back of his head exploding in a red mist.

Scanning the Garrison, they see a familiar head in the tree house.

"Aramis," they both breathe at the same time, before lining up their own shots.

"How the hell did he get a rifle?" d'Artagnan muttered.

"I don't care, I want the bastard in the driving seat," Athos grinds out.

But that particular truck is on the move now, heading behind the animal house.

oOo

Suddenly there were heavy footsteps in the corridor, and Athos and d'Artagnan swung around and raised their weapons. Two brief whistles alerted Athos, and he raised his hand to still d'Artagnan as Porthos appeared in the doorway.

"I've got a truck out the back Ath," he panted.

"Alright," Athos nodded. "Will you take Nkosi and try and get her out of here?"

"Yeah, but its crawlin' out there," Porthos replied warily.

d'Artagnan grabbed his backpack and unzipped it.

"Here, take these," he said, pulling out four white detergent bottles.

"You want me to do the washin' up on my way out?" Porthos muttered, taking the bottles that were thrust into his hands.

"These, my friend, are home-made grenades."

"Molotov cocktails!" Porthos laughed. "What's in them?"

"Does it matter?!" d'Artagnan hissed, as he zipped up the back pack and dropped it back on the chair.

"It does if it's me throwin' 'em" Porthos replied, as if it was obvious.

"It's isopropyl alcohol mixed with detergent. The detergent make the liquid thicker so it sticks to whatever it hits," d'Artagnan replied. "Happy?"

"Good lad, I've only ever used neat alcohol before; I'll remember that."

"As much as I enjoy learning the chemical compounds and qualities of Molotov cocktails, gentlemen, I think you should get out of here Porthos," Athos said, looking out of the window.

"Blow the trucks, then they'll be stuck here," he added.

"Stuck with you," Porthos growled, not looking happy about the plan.

"The police are on their way," Athos replied, without looking at him.

But they all knew the police were not going to get there in time.

Athos opened the bathroom door to release Nkosi, and she came out fast with the drawer held high above her head, ready to bring it down on any nearby Russian's head.

"Whoa!" Porthos cried, ducking aside. "I'm your knight in shinin' armour, love," he growled, reaching for her hand.

Nkosi took it automatically, throwing a look at Athos, who nodded at her.

"Go with Porthos, Nkosi."

She gave Athos a glare, and handed him the drawer.

Porthos tugged her arm and they both disappeared quickly and quietly through the ruined door.

Athos threw the drawer aside with a small smile.

oOo

Athos and d'Artagnan were now alone in the lodge.

"You go, d'Artagnan," Athos said, turning to him. "I am no use with this leg."

"No way!" d'Artagnan replied, horrified by the suggestion. He pulled more ammunition out of his jacket and reloaded his rifle, pointedly ignoring Athos's eyes. Any look Athos threw him was always more powerful than words.

Just then, they heard a sound above them.

"Someone's on the roof," Athos whispered, and they turned their eyes to the ceiling above them.

oOo

Athos moved away from the window as d'Artagnan followed the sound above them; watching the ceiling as the footsteps moved across.

Suddenly, a bullet was fired through the ceiling.

It hit the sofa and exploded in a cloud of material and stuffing.

d'Artagnan hit the ground and lay prone, and Athos slid down the wall as best he could. There was nowhere to hide as a second bullet blasted into the room; this time hitting the table and sending splinters into the air.

Athos glanced at d'Artagnan, who motioned to the door. But Athos shook his head. To reach the door, they would have to cross the open expanse of the room and would be sitting ducks to any bullets fired through the ceiling. Athos was a soldier, and d'Artagnan deferred to him.

Both men crouched down beneath the window now; figuring that the gunman would fire into the main room, but the next bullet came too close for comfort. They did not want to fire back as that would give their position away and if the man also had an automatic weapon, he could literally destroy the room in seconds.

They looked at each other once more and just as Athos was about to agree that they should get to the door somehow, there was a thud above them, and the firing stopped. Whoever was up there would not be firing again, it seemed.

Athos raised himself painfully up and looked through the window.

Across in the tree house; Aramis raised his head and gave them a brief wave.

"Aramis," Athos breathed.

"He's a sitting duck up there," d'Artagnan said.

"On the contrary," Athos murmured, "he has a 360 degree view, and his eyesight is near to perfect."

Just then, outside, the truck nearest to them exploded in a fireball and one of the men in it leapt out, dropping his weapon and heading to the animal facility.

Athos and d'Artagnan watched as Porthos's truck slewed across the compound and headed toward the tree house. On the way, he fired his weapon and a Russian went down, caught off guard by the burning truck. Aramis picked off another; and Porthos gave him a brief wave.

Athos's eyes widened as he saw Nkosi's elegant hand reach out and throw a lit bottle at the other truck that had been circling the Infirmary. Two of the thugs were smashing one of the windows in an attempt to gain entry. They whirled around at the noise of the explosion. Luckily, the fireball created enough smoke to allow Porthos to gun the engine and turn, before making his way out of the gate.

Athos sighed in relief.

"They've got out," he said to d'Artagnan, who was now over by the ruined door, watching the corridor beyond.

"There are about five of them left, I reckon," he said.

"But where are they?" Athos grunted.

"How much ammunition have you got left?" d'Artagnan called across.

Athos checked.

"Two rounds."

They had not reckoned on the machine gun, and had used a lot of fire power trying to stop the driver, until Aramis had taken the gunner out.

It was eerily quiet now.

"How's your foot?" d'Artagnan suddenly asked, conversationally.

"What foot?" Athos answered as he pushed the last of his bullets into his rifle.

d'Artagnan laughed. "Yeah, I suppose there are more pressing matters," he said.

" _d'Artagnan_ ..." Athos suddenly said quietly.

d'Artagnan took a last look down the corridor, and then ran across the room to join Athos at the window.

He followed Athos's gaze.

There, at the other side of the animal facility, was Rochefort.

They had never really seen him before, just the hazy photograph that Porthos had taken; but there was no mistaking him.

He was attempting to gain access to the facility. He had obviously been sitting out the "war" and was now seeking a better hiding place.

oOo

Rochefort was panicking. He was way out of his league. He had launched this war, but he had had no idea what it was like to be in the middle of it. He had hoped to make his way out of the compound as the battle was fought, but the surprise return fire they had received had halted his retreat. Now he was preparing to force the doors of the animal facility. He pulled out his gun to shoot the lock but was surprised to find it was unlocked.

Before he could fully open the door, however, he heard a low growl behind him.

Turning slowly around, he froze.

Staring at him, with teeth bared in a terrible snarl, was a large white dog, with one blue eye and one brown. Rochefort stared at the wolf-like dog, tilting his head to one side.

The dog crouched, its hackles up and Rochefort snarled himself as he brought his gun up.

Musket launched himself before the gun was level. Rochefort howled in shock and fell back against the doors of the animal house. Musket turned and ran off. On his back, Rochefort just had time to see Koslov taking hold of the door above him.

"Krupin sends his regards," he said coldly, before slamming the doors shut on him, leaving him inside.

Not understanding, Rochefort pulled himself to his feet and turned around.

What he saw made his blood run cold.

oOo

They had seen Rochefort pushed through the doors of the animal house by one of his men, and watched as Musket ran free.

They heard a terrible scream from the animal house, and d'Artagnan looked at Athos.

"Forgot that injured buffalo was in there," he smirked. "I think I forgot to lock his cage."

oOo

Their delight was tempered by the sight of the four remaining Russians walking together toward them.

Athos could see Aramis had risen from his position. He could not get a sight line on them and it looked like he was going to climb down for a better view; his rifle slung on his shoulder.

Athos looked at d'Artagnan.

"This is the final assault," he said, aware that they were nearly out of ammunition.

oOo

Athos lined up his rifle to take his final shots.

Just then, they saw a huge cloud of dust rising up in the distance.

"Too soon for the police," d'Artagnan frowned.

As it got closer, they saw that it was Nkosi's people, driving their own battered trucks. There on the roof of one of them was Nyack, shouting obscenities and wielding a very lethal looking machete in one hand, and an automatic rifle in the other.

"Crikey, he's well armed," d'Artagnan said.

"And they can shoot; Aramis has taught them," Athos said as a smile spread across his face.

The men were all banging on the trucks in a steady rhythm, and chanting.

"It's like that scene from "Zulu" d'Artagnan cried. "Porthos is with them!" he shouted, and sure enough the 4x4 was right there with them.

The Russians appeared to be shaken by this sight, and quickly dispersed.

Aramis had climbed back into the tree house and could now get a better line on them. As one of the Russians began to climb onto the roof of the Infirmary, he took aim and fired, watching as the man fell back and rolled off the roof.

The trucks rolled into the compound and the Tswana men jumped out, crouching behind the vehicles as they moved slowly forward. Nyack slid nimbly down into the bed of the truck and joined his men as Porthos got Nkosi quickly into the lodge to join Athos and d'Artagnan.

Standing in the doorway, he nodded at his two battle-weary friends.

"Sit this one out," he told them. "We got this."

oOo

The police arrived to find four men and one woman standing amid chaos and confusion, and a number of noisy native Tswana who were busy tying up those who remained alive.

Aramis asked Oba how the Tswana knew what was happening.

He explained that word had spread quickly.

Army trucks had been seen. A messenger had set off from the nearest village. From that village, another messenger, and onward, until word reached Nyack. By the time the Russians had set off, so had the men from Nyack's village.

In the compound, smoke billowed from three trucks and from a burning building beside the gate; the fire being doused by three Tswana; one an old man who was happily waving a machete and singing what appeared to be a tribal war song.

Inside the animal facility, a buffalo was standing placidly inside its pen at the end of the building; a few yards from the body of a blonde-haired male who would no doubt be identified by his dental records.

oOo

Later, they unlocked the room and Nyack confronted his youngest son.

"You are my son, Rach. I have always loved you. Love above all else. I am sorry you did not see that. You have brought shame on our name."

He watched sadly as Oba and Tabansi took their brother away.

Nkosi looked away as he passed her. Her brother had almost killed Athos is a most horrible way. He had poisoned the lake. She could not understand, nor forgive.

Later, they organised a Skype-call to Treville and all sat in front of the screen, Athos explained;

"Rach fell in with Rochefort. He has spent many years believing he had been overlooked, that he had no place. He was the youngest son, and he thought Nyack had forsaken him, in favour of his eldest son Oba and, of course, his cherished daughter, the child of a white woman. It was a lot for him to take in, in a changing world. He has harboured an irrational grudge against Nyack, and against Europeans in general for many years. I suppose my relationship with Nkosi tipped him over the edge. He felt the Tswana's way of life was being threatened."

"But that didn't stop him fallin' in with that madman Rochefort, who wanted to destroy everything anyway," Porthos said from his place beside Athos.

"Everyone has a price, Porthos," Athos said. "Ceasar and Caligula would not be free today if you had not exercised that option, my friend."

Porthos grunted.

"Well done, Gentlemen," Treville said. "You have saved Heshima."

If any of them thought they saw tears in Treville's eyes, none of them mentioned it.

"We still have a problem," Athos said;

"Krupin's surveillance. He _will_ find the diamonds."

There was no "if" anymore. They were all on the same page now.

"Let's discuss this in a few days," d'Artagnan spoke up. "I may have a solution," he smirked.

Athos knew that look.

 **To be continued ...**


	28. Chapter 28

And so, we come to the final chapter.

 **CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT**

Athos had been sitting with Treville for an hour, pleading Rach's case. Treville had been in no mood to listen, but his second in command was nothing if not persistent when he felt justified in arguing.

"I know what it's like to be taken in, Jean, you know that," Athos said, leaning forward and pinning his boss with a steady stare.

Treville threw the pen he had been holding tightly in his hand across the desk. Athos did not break eye contact.

"You could have died, lad," Treville hissed. He was in no mood to be lenient.

"Any punishment metered out by Rach's own people will be far worse than anything we do to him," Athos persisted, ignoring Treville's observation. "He has a chance with them, eventually."

"How is their punishment worse than the Authorities?" Treville said, tiredly.

"His siblings are shunning him. Only his father gives him time. Let Nyack rehabilitate him. It will do them both good. Nyack is angry, but for the most part, he is feeling guilty. He had no idea Rach felt the way he did. He was easy pickings for a con man like Rochefort. Hell, Rochefort even took Krupin in!"

"You are being very magnanimous," Treville replied, rubbing his hand through his close-cropped hair.

"I am being realistic," Athos replied softly.

"The Board is leaving it up to me," Treville sighed. "Now the threat has gone, things are returning to normal."

"That's good!" Athos said, urgently, as if to press his point further. "Our road is clear, Jean."

Treville looked up into Athos's expectant face.

"How _is_ that injured buffalo?" he sighed quietly, resigned.

Athos relaxed.

"Ready to be returned to his home," he laughed. "He's been traumatised enough."

oOo

In his office in Manhattan, Yaroslav Krupin sat angrily stabbing the keys on his computer. Koslov had had his satisfaction; the death of Rochefort had been a cause of celebration. His surveillance had been completed, and although the Garrison had not been destroyed, he was not overly worried. As for the loss of his men, he was not overly worried. Those who had survived would not talk.

Now, his attempts to look into the Botswana Government's files were being met with an abrupt end in each instance.

Time and again, he attempted to look at his registration documents for a feasibility study of the land on Heshima, confident that the reserve would soon be run into the ground, courtesy of the continued actions of violent poachers who had been wreaking havoc of late. His weak link on Treville's Board would be activated and a vote of no confidence would be called.

The young man who had developed Krupin's surveillance software had been found dead in mysterious circumstances and his office had burned down with all the technical information lost; the only evidence left was buried deep in Krupin's own files.

Now, each time he attempted access he was met with a brick wall. What was going on?!

He would soon be ready to mine, ready to accept the Botswana Government's grateful acceptance of one more mine, bringing them more wealth.

Suddenly, a notice came up that the file he was looking for had been reclassified and was not longer live.

Not only that, but Heshima had been classified as a protected area.

d'Artagnan had successfully put layers of classifications into the database. As far as any official who was looking to rubber stamp a mining application was concerned, Heshima was out of bounds. In fact, the latest Russian surveillance that had been filed would show that there was nothing of value on Heshima in terms of mineral deposits. What there was, was not worth the effort.

He had also ensured that anything Krupin tried in the future would be overridden. Now, as far as the Boswana Government was concerned and any company that came sniffing around, Heshima was a diamond free zone.

d'Artagnan had sucked in his breath when he had found the Russian evidence. The diamond deposit was massive, and stretched under the cave and out under the lagoons. Had it been acted upon, all the land would have been lost. Once he rendered it technically "worthless," he had smirked to himself as he turned off his computer and headed out to tell his friends.

"How did you do that?!" Treville had asked him, increduously.

"Krupin has spent years setting up legitimate businesses to cover his tracks. This time, it didn't work in his favour. It was easy to hack into his files."

"Easy for you," Athos laughed.

"He'll be beside himself," Porthos whooped.

"He will when he finds out the rest," d'Artagnan grinned.

Athos raised an eyebrow.

"You'll find out soon enough."

oOo

It was Christmas Day and Athos and Nkosi drove out to visit Nyack.

Rach had been dealt with by the village council. Apart from setting the snare and poisoning the lake, he had not killed anyone. In his favour, he had known about the possibility of diamonds, as had his family; but he had not said anything to Rochefort. That would have been a step too far, and would have ultimately have destroyed his village. He had been a victim, in a way, of a madman. Athos had not pressed a case against him. Nkosi, though, could not forgive him and had broken off all communication with him, as had his brothers.

It was in fact, only his father who maintained communication. It was an an irony not lost on Rach, who was now able to have Nyack's full attention and was finally able to accept what a magnanimous man he was and how badly he had wronged his father.

By the light of the village fire, Nkosi shyly handed Athos three woven leather bracelets with green stones intertwined in the middle. "To match your eyes," she had said. He gave her a silver necklace, "to match your mother's bracelet."

How well they were getting to know each other.

Hanging in the centre of the necklace was the slither of diamond that his brothers had found in the cave. It was now polished and sparkling.

"Resurrected from the ashes," Athos said. "A bit like me."

"Merry Christmas," he murmured as he leant over and kissed her gently, but thoroughly. Much to the amusement of their village audience, who gave them a mixture of giggles, hoots and applause.

"We had better get back, Porthos is cooking up a storm," Athos said, pulling her to her feet.

They said their goodbyes and headed back to the Garrison.

After a wonderful evening in the company of friends, they both spent the night in the tree house, watching the shooting stars arc across the velvet black sky, amid a myriad of constellations.

oOo

Back in Manhattan, to compound his difficulties, Krupin's morning was about to be ruined by the formal visit by three US Government officials, bearing warrants.

The newspapers and news channels the following week were full of all his less-than-legal dealings.

Documents had been discovered buried deep in the computer files of some of his enterprises. It was not good news for the Krupin empire, and the police and the FBI had been keen to talk to him.

At long last, they had something to talk to him about, now that his businesses were laid bare.

oOo

The day that Athos discarded the surgical boot and slipped his foot into the stirrup was a good one.

They all rode out across the plains to look at their land. Treville, Athos, Porthos, Aramis, d'Artagnan, Nkosi - and Musket.

Before them, vast herds roamed, safe under the care of the men watching. To the west, the green swathe of the wetlands of the Delta; shimmering under the sun. Flocks of birds made a lazy trail across the blue sky.

Looking over the expanse of savannah, they passed the water amongst them.

"I've said it once, gentlemen" Treville smiled, " _and lady_ ," he laughed, smiling at Nkosi;

"And I'll say it again. _This_ is a dream come true."

 **MWISHO (END)**

oOo

 **A/N** Many thanks for reading this story and for all the reviews and messages sent to me. As always, thanks to those who I cannot thanks personally. I hope you enjoyed this African adventure as much as I enjoyed writing it. I learnt a few things along the way, which can't be a bad thing. So, until we meet again, "Yote kwa mtu" and "Moja kwa ajili ya wote" (You know that motto!)

Hmmm. I wonder what happened to Koslov?

Kwaheri, my friends.


End file.
